Pursuing the Idea of You
by nonsequitur1416
Summary: AU. Circumstances force Emily to throw up her walls, hiding behind her anger and thirst for power and control. But she spirals into an existential crisis after being confronted with the possibility that the only literal ghost of her past has come back to haunt her, seventeen years too late. What do you do when you find the dearest figment of your imagination tangible at last?
1. Chapter One

**I come bearing gifts! I apologize for the hiatus; I'm sorry, I really, really am. A lot happened in the past year, and I honestly couldn't find the time to set aside a few hours to update any of my stories. But, I assure you, they're definitely still ongoing!**

**Anyway, this one's rather lengthy, so I hope you'll bear with me. I didn't have the heart to split it into two chapters since that would've ruined the flow.**

**To clarify a few things, it's crucial that you understand initially that Naomi Campbell is not—and will never be—a mere by-product of Emily Fitch's hyperactive, and arguably creative, imagination. She is an independent entity in and of herself, though employed by a Higher Order; Emily knows this. Katie knows this. Jenna thinks they've all cracked. You'll know what I mean later.**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! Let me know you stopped by, and tell me what you think. ;)**

* * *

**yours. then.**

* * *

'You look positively despondent,' she gestured emphatically with a spoon in her direction, brows knitted together in concern. 'What's wrong, sweetie? Something up at school?'

'What does _despondent _even _mean?' _Emily frowned miserably. She toyed with her food quietly, pushed stone-cold mushrooms around her plate with a knife. 'You always use big words, because you think it makes you sound smart. But, half the time, I don't know what you're talking about. You should stop it.' She speared a soggy slice of fried tomato and scrutinized it with growing disdain. 'Like, that time at the Fair, when you saw those circus performers at the square and started using words like _concupiscent, _and _contricate—' _

'It was a family fair, and they were half-naked; it was hardly decent! Also, it's _compensate—_'

'Exactly!' she raised her fork and glared at her hotly through the tines. 'You always correct my grammar! And, my vocabulary! You think you're so smart! Always talking about politics and the 'questionable quality of education in third world countries,'' she gestured with air-quotes and rolled her eyes. 'Just 'cause you're in _college _ and you support things like feminism_—'_

Naomi sighed softly, 'Do you really want to fight with me right _now, _Emsy? We could always do that after you've told me what's really bothering you.' She reached over the table and took her hand gently, smiling when Emily made no attempt to pull away. 'You know you can tell me anything,' she licked the cream off her spoon and nodded encouragingly.

Emily's features crumpled together in a vain effort to hold her tears back; she hiccuped into her napkin and sniffled soundly. Naomi sat bolt upright, eyes wide. 'They made fun of me,' she wiped her nose on the cuff of her jumper and rubbed her eyes briskly. 'After lunch, when they sent us out onto the playground. Freddie and James—'

'—Freddie? The scrawny Italian kid from Totterdown?' Naomi asked sharply. 'Didn't they take your filing folder the other week and hide it in the third floor supply closet? And stole your lunch bag to eat all your crumpets to spite you for ratting them out to Miss Hart three days ago?'

Emily nodded. Naomi scowled darkly and huffed; she crossed her arms and gestured for her to continue. 'They made fun of me for eating alone, out on the benches by the greenhouse. James called me funny names, I think some of them were rude,' she looked greatly upset, and her lip quivered. 'Freddie took my bow and wouldn't give it back. James chased him 'round the grounds, and I tried to catch up, but I couldn't.' She swiped her sleeve across her nose again and stifled a sneeze. 'When I caught up to them, they didn't have it anymore. Freddie said it was gone. James said he lost it. I cried, because daddy bought it for me,' Emily pressed the heel of her palms against the Formica table top and sighed through her teeth. 'James laughed at me. Freddie left after that, though. I didn't talk to either of them after class.'

'Christ,' Naomi hissed. 'If they weren't children imagine the things I would do to them. _Jesus_, those two. They'll grow up horrid and useless.' She closed her eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of her nose. Emily scooted closer and pulled her hand from her face, smiled up at her when Naomi glanced down with sympathetic eyes. 'Oh, Emsy,' she breathed. 'Don't say it's okay. It isn't. You know it isn't. I have half a mind to go down there right now and—'

'And what?' Emily asked amusedly. 'Knock their socks off? You'd be charged. Violence against children and all that.'

Naomi's lip curled into a smirk, 'Or, you know, with manslaughter. The latter comes a bit later, I think. In case I get carried away. You could always stop me, you know. You know I'd listen.'

'I don't trust me, either,' Emily leaned toward the glass on the table and tucked the straw between her teeth. 'I might be tempted _not _to stop you.' She giggled when Naomi leaned down to brush a kiss against her cheek, blowing into her ear playfully a beat later.

'Oh, you will, Fitch. Your conscience will _always _betray you in the end,' she popped a cherry into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Beside her, Emily nodded knowledgeably.

'A parable.'

Naomi bit her lip to stifle a laugh, 'A _paradox, _sweetie. Though, in this case, I think the more accurate term would be _ironic.' _She tucked her chin on top of Emily's head and allowed herself a languid grin. 'So, what do we do with ourselves today, my little mistress?'

Emily turned her head and pressed her face against Naomi's chest, breathing her in carefully. Naomi felt her smile against the thin fabric of her blouse. 'Take me to Harrods. Mum never brings me to Harrods. She thinks I'll go on a bat-crazy rampage and start breaking glass cases and pulling down fifteen-grand designer handbags off the shelves.'

Naomi pulled back to look at her curiously, 'Take you to _London? _Not that I'd mind, but why Harrods, though? Seriously? You don't want to go to, I don't know, Waterstones? Down at Patchway? I could drive, you know. We don't have to take a cab or anything if you don't want to.'

'No,' Emily insisted adamantly. 'There's something about Harrods, Naoms. I've never been to London, and Katie always says the best way to go about a city is to visit their shopping centers first. To get a feel for the kind of culture the locals are used to.' She prattled on with rehearsed ease, reiterating words she'd heard much too often. Naomi snorted derisively and raised a brow.

'Your sister watches too much teenage trash on the telly. It's not good for her, you know—you shouldn't watch those things either. She's been brainwashed by the demeaning traps of the modern materialistic cult; the snares of the piss-poor-parody of youthful indulgence they call _pop culture_,' she rolled her eyes and continued wryly. 'She's the poster child for Women Who Embrace the Patriarchal Paradigm, and she's not even a _woman _yet.'

Undeterred, Emily pressed on, 'Come _on, _Naoms. Just this once.' She glanced up, eyes twinkling with mischief. 'We'll take a photo together, for proof. Just to spite mum.'

Naomi grinned, 'There are a thousand reasons why I love you, Fitch. This—this right here—is one of them.' She rumpled Emily's hair and stood up to smooth down her trousers.

'Your knickerbocker glory, though,' Emily trailed off wistfully, gaze fixed on the half-empty glass of dessert on their table. 'Won't you finish it, Naoms? It seems like an awful waste.'

'Oh,' Naomi scratched the back of her head awkwardly. 'I suppose there is _that, _but honestly, sweetie. I couldn't take another bite if I tried.' She smiled apologetically and held out a hand to help Emily up from her seat. She glanced behind her and whistled through her teeth, 'Heads up, Ems. Senior Fitch at two o' clock.'

Emily flailed, thoroughly flustered, and grasped Naomi's hand tightly in her own, 'Don't leave me, please.' Naomi squeezed her hand and smiled reassuringly in lieu of a proper reply.

'Emily!' her mother cried exasperatedly. 'Would you stop that? The waiters are looking at you funny. Twice, the manager asked me if you were my daughter—I suppose he didn't know _what _to think: you charged_ two_ meals and _two_ desserts on my tab, and they weren't even for Katie! And, look,' she gestured at the table vaguely. 'You didn't even _finish _them., which is a good thing I suppose. No wonder you're putting on so much weight!'

'I did!' Emily protested hotly; Naomi twined their fingers comfortingly under the table. 'That's Naomi's share. She says she's full and can't eat another bite, and frankly, I don't think I can, either.'

'If it's any consolation, the salmon gratin was positively exquisite, Mrs. Fitch, if I do say so myself. Thank you for lunch, but I really can't stomach too much dairy for dessert, you know? Bit bad for the, ah, digestion,' Naomi added helpfully, patting her stomach gingerly with her free hand.

'Emily,' her mother began warningly. Suddenly, to her left, Katie came bounding up looking thoroughly beleaguered, hair sticking messily out of her ponytail.

'Mum, James needs more tokens. Dad says he can't lend him any more, he ran out of change fifteen minutes ago. I think they're using your credit card,' Katie said matter-of-factly, fingers clasping and unclasping the silver filigree catch on her bracelet. Jenna gasped and pressed a hand to her throat, horrified.

'Katiekins, see if you can finish the ice cream. I'll be right back,' she pushed past her daughter and strode menacingly over to the accused, lounging by an out-of-order ticket booth next to the arcade.

Katie pressed her lips into a hard line and glanced at the spoon next to Naomi's hand, on the table. 'She thinks you're losing it you know,' Katie remarked. 'Talking to yourself is usually the first sign of madness.'

'I'm not _alone,' _ Emily sighed, frustrated. 'Naomi's just really, really shy. She ordered too, you know. I can't finish all this—' she waved at the general direction of the table and picked up Naomi's spoon, as if to prove a point, '—All by myself. You know that.'

'Yeah, I know Ems. I _do _believe you, you know,' Katie smiled without a trace of condescension. 'Hey, Naomi. How're you doing?' she addressed the space next to Emily, a good ten feet from where Naomi stood.

'Fine, thanks very much, Katie,' Naomi smirked, greatly amused at being addressed so inaccurately it was almost laughable.

Emily looked a bit awkward and held out a hand to Katie. 'Over here, Kay,' she pulled gently on Katie's wrist and nudged Naomi forward so they faced each other properly.

Katie fidgeted uncomfortably in place and called out tentatively, 'You, uh, enjoy the party, Naoms? Emsy feed you right?'

'Quite a lot, yes, Kay, thank you. Emily's been a great host,' Naomi winked at Emily conspiratorially, mock-wincing when a fist connected with her shoulder a beat later.

'She says I'm a brilliant host,' Emily looked particularly smug and tugged on the cuff of Naomi's parka. Katie rolled her eyes.

'I'm sure she did. Now, come _on, _Ems! Triple tag team against mum and dad at air hockey; loser pays for dessert.' Katie readjusted her shoulder bag and waved at the space next to Emily before striding off, 'See you around, Naomi!'

'I suppose I have to go,' Emily whispered sadly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Naomi chuckled and tilted her chin up with a finger so their eyes met.

'Don't sound so miserable, sweetie. I'll see you soon, you know that. It's not like I have anywhere else to go, anyway.' She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her close in a warm hug. 'Happy birthday, Emsy. Tell Katie I greeted her, too.'

'Thanks, Naoms,' Emily smiled against Naomi's stomach. 'For someone who doesn't go out much, you definitely know how to show a girl a good time.'

'To be fair, your _parents _do. I just tagged along, really. Also, princesses are only seven once their whole lives, and seven—as you and I both know—is a pretty magical number. You deserve only the best,' Naomi pulled her coat on a little tighter and grinned. 'I'll see you later. Just give us a holler, yeah? I'll come running. Materialize through the wall and everything if you'd like; the whole she-bang.'

Emily waved cheerily and blew a kiss in her direction, 'Take care, you dolt!' she laughed. Naomi winked and swiveled on her heels, inconspicuously slipping past a father and son who'd walked in through the front door. Emily turned to find the waiter who bussed at their table staring at her strangely.

'Who were you talking to, love?' he asked, nonplussed. 'Just now?' he sounded completely bewildered, and Emily couldn't help laughing.

'Naomi,' she explained kindly, her tone patiently patronizing. 'She's a senior at Roundview College; a pretty strong candidate for the presidency. She's kind of popular,' Emily bit her thumb self-consciously. 'She wants to take up law at LSE, or UCL, but she's way too smart for either—I told her to go for Oxford, or Cambridge. That's where Gramps taught at before. But, if she goes to uni there, I won't see her around so much.' The waiter blinked, looking more ruffled by the minute.

'You've got a pretty long way to go before uni, hon. So, this _Naomi_—she from around here? Your cousin, or something?' he asked, clearly skeptical. He wiped down the table and raised his brows expectantly. 'Yeah?'

Emily shrugged and readjusted the collar of her coat, 'She never told me where she was from. She's my imaginary friend.'

**xx**

'But, if you tilt it to the left, it looks a bit like Andy Warhol. Not _an _Andy Warhol, mind you. Andy Warhol himself, I mean. Look.'

'Okay, _now _you're just being mean—Huh. Christ, it _does _look like him. And believe me, I've seen enough self-portraits of him in art class to last me a lifetime. I'd know.'

'Don't swear,' Naomi chastised gently, craning her neck to the left to examine the portrait a little better. She gave it a cursory once-over and grinned. 'Okay, from this angle, it's definitely a giraffe biting a rabbit's head off. Have a look.'

'You swear all the time! That's not fair at all,' Emily grumbled. She snatched back the canvas and held it arm's length, the corner of her mouth twisted in a critical grimace. 'Actually, it looks a bit like your mum.'

Naomi frowned and leaned down to peer closer, 'I highly doubt that, seeing as she's never really—Oi!' she slapped Emily's arm playfully and pranced away from her hasty retaliation. 'Cheeky! You've never even _seen_ her! Please, like _your _mum's any better,' she rolled her eyes. 'At least mine's got halfway decent facial features,' she tossed her hair back haughtily, laughing when Emily braced a shoulder against her ribs and shoved.

'Gorgeous facial features you supposedly inherited?' Emily muttered. Naomi raised a brow suggestively and leaned down to brush the tip of Emily's nose gently with her own.

'You calling me beautiful, Emsy?' she asked coyly, looking up at her through her lashes. Emily blushed delicately, her cheeks and the tips of her ears tinted a rosy-red flush. She turned away abruptly and rubbed her nose consciously with her free hand.

'Cut it out,' she muttered. She unbuckled the strap on her shoulder bag and unceremoniously stuffed her painting inside. Naomi threw her head back and laughed; Emily felt her face flush a little warmer at the sound.

'Sorry, Ems,' she reached down and took Emily's hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. She swung their joined hands as they walked down the street, the silence unbroken for a block or two, save for the occasional horn as a car barreled past, and the crunch of their boots against the crisp, new layer of snow on the cobbles. 'I really like your work, you know. All that stuff I said earlier? I was only messing around, obviously. You're really good at what you do, regardless of what your art teacher thinks. You _owned _that exhibit, never mind Sarah Cotton and her charcoal sketches,' Naomi wrinkled her nose in distaste.

They walked down to the quay, past the brightly colored sailboats and yachts moored close by the coast. The wooden planks of the dock were rotting in places and creaked beneath their feet, but Naomi sat down heavily anyway and began pulling off her socks. Emily watched curiously as she hitched her skirt up, bare to the knee, and lowered her feet into the cold, murky water with a gratified sigh.

'You really think I can do it?' Emily asked softly, hesitant and shy all of a sudden. She became preoccupied with a knot in the wood beneath her hand and scratched at it lightly with a nail. A hand covered hers and she looked up to meet Naomi's warm, blue eyes. They were alight with a pale, flickering flame and she felt her heart pick up double-time to keep pace with the intensity she saw reflected back at her.

'Now, listen here, Emily Fitch, and you listen well,' Naomi began quietly, turning in place to face her. She leaned forward and cradled Emily's face in her hands; touched her forehead to hers, daring her to look away. 'You will promise me—promise me, here and now—that you will never listen to _anyone _who tries to tell you that you _can't _do something, anything. Never acknowledge them, never _believe _them. I am telling you now, Emily Fitch, that you can do anything. Be anything you set your heart on. Be anyone you want to be. You will always have me: even if it means being your one-man cheer-squad by the bench, when everyone else is sitting on the bleachers.'

Emily closed her eyes and nodded, lip trembling. She threw her arms around Naomi's neck and pulled her closer, burying her face in the folds of her winter coat. Naomi rubbed slow circles against her back to soothe her; kissed her ear with a tenderness that rivaled that of Emily's father's.

'You're all I've got,' Emily whispered, her voice cracking at the end. 'You're all I've got, Naoms.'

'You know that isn't true,' Naomi murmured. 'You've got Katie, and James, and your mum, and dad, and Christian, and Grace, and Gran and—'

'They didn't show up today at the Showcase,' she sobbed helplessly, grabbing fistfuls of Naomi's coat. Her shoulders heaved as she tried to control her breathing. 'Everyone else's families went. They promised they would, I saved them seats.'

'I know you did, sweetie,' Naomi sighed and pulled her closer; it was easy, sometimes, to forget that Emily was so _young, _but moments like these grounded her back heavily. 'I'm sure they didn't mean to forget, and you know Katie isn't really interested in things like that,' she wiped Emily's tear-stained cheeks with her thumbs gently, knowing for a fact that an impromptu business meeting was at the heart of her parents' unintended absence, and Emily's subsequent disappointment and heartache. 'But, I was there, wasn't I? So, technically, you had family, too.' She hoisted Emily onto her lap and rocked her slowly in her arms; she cried even harder at the gesture.

'They don't love me like you do,' she whimpered against her neck. Naomi swallowed thickly, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill.

'No one will ever love you like I do, Emily. You know that,' she laced their fingers together over her stomach. 'You know that.'

**xx**

Naomi pushed herself slowly on the swing set, heels digging into the packed dirt for leverage every now and then. The school playground was temporarily empty, its usual patrons expending the last dregs of their mental faculties on rational thought for the day. Emily's last class would end in little over fifteen minutes—ten, perhaps, if her teacher was feeling particularly generous—then they'd have the rest of the afternoon to themselves. She glanced up and spotted a familiar face sauntering over to her eagerly.

She grinned and waved him over, 'Of all the places in the British Isles. You and I—I think the universe is trying to tell us something fundamentally crucial.'

'Something good, I hope. Confirmation, most likely, of our predestined friendship,' he stopped in front of her and opened his arms, feeling awkward and hesitant all of a sudden. She laughed and tumbled into them, throwing her arms around his neck, squealing with delight when he whirled her about in a giddy rush.

'You have no idea how great it feels to see you again,' she said breathlessly. She stepped back and looked him over, 'You haven't changed one bit; packing in a bit of weight there, though,' she prodded his stomach none-too-gently. 'I've missed you,' she smiled fondly.

'And I, you,' he ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her. 'So, what've you been up to lately? What brings you to glamorous Bristol?' he spread his hands. 'Didn't think it was really your scene, you always preferred the ones in the London area. Wasn't your last from Acton?'

'Worcester, actually. Acton was the one before that. She's in med school now, last I heard.'

'Acton?'

'Mm,' she sat back on the swing and leaned back, teetering precariously on the edge of her seat. 'You're one to talk, though! Your last was in Glasgow! What're you doing back in the mainland?'

'I had to take this one, Naomi,' he shrugged and shoved his hands back in his pockets. 'This one's special. Have to look out for them, you know? No one else will.'

'I know what you mean,' she said softly. He took a seat next to her and pushed himself slowly.

'Brilliant coincidence, though,' he glanced at her and chuckled. 'That we'd wind up at the same school, too.'

'Someone thinks its funny to shake things up every now and then,' Naomi said wryly, tilting her head back to squint at the sky. 'How old's yours?'

'Five,' he picked at the rust on the chains, flaking them between his fingers. 'His mother's dead. Father's a drunkard. Beats him to death half the time. He's tried running away twice, social services keep bringing him back. They can't find proof of maltreatment. Doesn't exactly help that his father's the finance chairman,' he scoffed and scuffed the toe of his sneaker into the caked dirt. 'I'd take him away if I could. Make it stop hurting.'

'You are,' she sighed and reached over to take his hand. 'It's enough, sometimes, for them to know someone's watching out for them. That someone cares. That someone loves them, too.'

'Is it?' he whipped around to look at her. 'Nobody else knows about us, nobody else _sees _us,' he hissed, his voice rising. 'They'll figure things out on their own, Naomi. They'll work it out. They're smart, give them some credit.' He stood up and kicked the seat, gritted his teeth as it spiraled away from him. 'We can't be what they need us to be_,_'he sagged against the metal frame of the set and put his head in his hands. 'They're all alone. They don't have to be, they don't want to be, they can't help but be—and there's nothing we can do about it.'

The silence was thick with tension, pierced from time to time by the occasional creak of a rusty hinge. Naomi bit her lip and glanced over at the faded brownstone of the school building.

'I think I'll stick around for awhile,' she said quietly. He turned to look at her, brows creased together in confusion.

'Longer than necessary, you mean?' he frowned. She nodded, twisted her hands together in her lap.

'She needs me, I can't just—' she sighed, buried her head in her hands. 'I can't just leave her be. I need her, too.'

'There will be no shortage of children who need us,' he said simply. 'She isn't the first, and neither will she be the last. We can't get too attached, too involved. You know that. I can't tell you the number of times I've wished things were different, but that's the way things are, that's the way things work. It's out of our hands.'

'This one's different!' she cried. She scrambled to her feet and gripped the chain tightly. Her voice wavered. 'You don't understand; she's different! I need more time. I can't do this,' she closed her eyes and shook her head. 'I need more time with her. There's so much we have yet to do, so many things I have yet to tell her—'

'Do it, then,' he clapped her on the shoulder gently, his gaze heavy with sadness. The air suddenly buzzed with the sound of a thousand voices, doors thrown open brashly, rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the granite flooring—they looked up as the double-doors were thrown open, the students released for the day. He scanned the crowd briskly and smiled.

'That yours?' he called over to her. Naomi's head nearly whipped off her shoulders as she turned to look. A figure was pushing past people to clear a path—she was tiny, that much was clear to him. Her little face was pale as she scanned the crowd milling about in the car park, the stairs. Her eyes lit up when she saw them by the playground; a smile slowly spilled across Naomi's face, her eyes bright, twinkling. She met her halfway—she crouched down and held out her arms as the girl threw herself into them. She buried her face in Naomi's neck; they were talking in hushed voices, Naomi leaning back occasionally to wipe off streaks of finger-paint along her cheek and jaw. They'd laugh, and Naomi would touch her forehead to hers, their noses brushing together tenderly. Eventually, she stood up and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Emily's eyes widened and she glanced behind Naomi to look at him with something akin to fear. He smiled encouragingly at her and winked. A faint blush spread across her face, but she let herself be tugged forward to meet him.

'Emily, this is JJ. He's a good friend of mine,' Naomi said cheerily. 'JJ, this is my Emily.'

'Hello, Emily,' he crouched down and held out his hand for her to shake.

She looked at him with wide, curious eyes and touched his palm with the tips of her fingers gingerly, like she was afraid he'd suddenly dissolve at her touch. 'Are you a Friend, too? Is yours at this school?' she whispered conspiratorially.

He winked, 'I'm afraid he's younger than you, though, love. He's only five.'

'Are there a lot of you here?' she asked, surprised. She glanced up at Naomi and tugged on her hand, 'Naoms?'

Naomi looked uncomfortable, 'Er, not really, Emsy. Not everyone has one, not everyone _needs _one. And, some of them—your school mates, I mean—they might have Friends that don't really like showing themselves to other Friends. I mean, they're _there, _but even we can't see them.' She looked at JJ pointedly; he cleared his throat and coughed.

'Yes, well. About three out of ten of us are uncomfortable with the idea of public exposure. They like to keep to themselves, rather anti-social, if you will,' he looked up at the school and blinked. 'I think _they're_ released as well. I can hear him from here. Unfortunately, I have to go 'round the back to check. It was lovely meeting you, Emily. Take care now. Keep Naomi out of trouble for me, won't you?' he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She grinned and shook his hand in farewell.

'Thanks, JJ. I will,' she stuck her tongue out at Naomi, giggling when she rolled her eyes in reply.

**xx**

'Naoms,' Emily pleaded. She shook her shoulders roughly, ruffling her hair messily in a vain attempt to wake her. 'Naoms, come on. Wake up already. _Naomi.'_

Naomi turned over on her stomach, tangling her legs into the blankets pooled around her feet. She pulled at the pillow and buried her head under it, her halfhearted grumbling muffled by the fabric. Emily sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

'They'll be here any minute, Katie's already gone downstairs for breakfast. I can't give it to you anymore if mum comes up,' she pouted and slipped a foot beneath Naomi's stomach in a a last futile effort to push her off the bed. Naomi's head emerged from underneath the pillow, her cheek nestled warmly against her hand. She opened one eye after the other sleepily and stifled a yawn.

'Why can't I just come with? Then we can spend the day together. It's _my _day, can't I have what I want for a change?' Naomi smiled blearily. Emily's eyes softened and she lay back down to face her, reaching over to tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair behind an ear.

'Just this once,' Emily promised. 'Then I'll take you with me on vacation. But, not this one. We haven't seen Gran in ages, and she's just come out of the hospital. It wouldn't be fair to lea—'

'I get it, Emsy. Really, its okay,' Naomi rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, threw an arm across her eyes and groaned. 'But what am I going to do for the next eight days, though?'

'You could see JJ,' Emily piped up eagerly. 'I saw him at school the other day. He asked about you. I think,' she swallowed and glanced around her, as if she were afraid someone would hear them. 'I think he likes you.'

Naomi snorted, 'Highly unlikely, Ems. He's got a girlfriend and another baby on the way. Besides, he's definitely not my type.'

_'Emily?'_

_'Shit,' _Naomi snarled, throwing off the covers. 'I thought she was loading the car?'

'That was over twenty minutes ago, and you were in bed for fifteen!' Emily leaped off the bed and whirled about, distraught. 'She can't find you here, you'll be in _huge _trouble.'

'No shit, Sherlock,' Naomi muttered. She ducked her head and glanced beneath the bed. 'I don't think I can fit under your bed anymore, Ems. Any better ideas? And, no—' she said pointedly, cutting Emily off. 'I am not, under any circumstances, hiding in the _closet.'_

Emily threw her hands up in defeat, 'Why can't you just fade into the background again, or something? Disappear? That's what you always do!'

Naomi glared, 'If I could, I would've already. But not today!' she scratched the back of her head, growing more agitated by the second.

_'Emily! Emily, get up, love. Shower up, we'll leave in fifteen—Have you seen my curlers? Are they in your room? Katie says she borrowed them the other day—' _

'No,' Emily cried. 'No, mum. She put them back in your room last night, hang on. I'm getting dressed.' The stairs creaked and footsteps padded softly across the hall. Naomi paled with terror and glanced at Emily desperately.

Emily ran across the room and threw open her window, 'There's a pipe, you can hang onto the system for a while. I'll get mum out of the room, fast as anything.' Naomi swung a leg over the ledge and crawled onto the pipe railing beneath the window.

'Emily, you were supposed to be up nearly an hour ago,' her mother chided, nudging the door open with her foot. She held a box of gardening tools in her arms and set them on the desk. 'Your father will need your help a little later at Gran's, he's volunteered to landscape the front yard.'

Emily nodded quickly, 'I'll be down soon, mum. I just,' she grasped at words. 'Need to sort my socks.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'To sort your socks,' she repeated dubiously. She brushed past Emily and headed for the window; Emily's heart thundered in her chest. 'Why leave your windows open, love? All sorts of things can get in. Wouldn't want that now, would we?' she leaned out to peer down at their backyard, almost as if she expected to find a vagrant running across the street, making a mad dash for safety. Emily shut her eyes tightly, prayed Naomi had the sense to tuck herself beneath the ledge. Her mother seemed to find nothing amiss: she pulled the window down a beat later and flipped the latch closed.

'I'll see you downstairs, Em,' she pressed a kiss to her daughter's head and slipped past the door. Emily sighed in relief and ran back to the window, pushing it up and leaning over to call out.

'Naoms,' she whispered loudly. 'Clear.' After much cussing and muttering, Naomi managed to pull herself back onto the ledge, breathing heavily.

'I'd appreciate a little heads up next time, Ems,' she scowled, rubbed feeling back into her aching arms. 'Any longer and I think I would've probably let go.'

Emily had disappeared, but there were sounds of scuffling and the tell-tale metallic tinkle of rummaging in the supply room down the hall. She tiptoed softly back into the room soon enough, a hand behind her back, the other holding a crudely shaped box the size of a fist. It was faded and the corners were bent and battered, but it was clear it had been handmade. Emily held it out to her shyly, the tips of her ears as red as her face.

'Katie says the best gifts aren't store-bought,' she murmured. 'Happy birthday, Naoms.'

Naomi's eyes widened in disbelief; clearly thrown. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, at a loss for words. 'You didn't have to, Emily,' she managed weakly, taking the box gently from her. 'No one's ever—' she coughed, all too aware of the growing lump in her throat. '—No one from my—Has ever—You didn't have to—'

Emily shrugged, 'I wanted to. You deserve it, Naoms. You're my best friend. You make me happy all the time; the least I could do was return the favor.' She twisted a strand of her hair in her fingers, bringing it to her lips, 'Go on, open it. Let me know if you like it.'

Naomi pulled the lid off carefully, setting it on the bedside desk. She pushed a finger against the crepe paper lining the interior and brushed against something relatively tiny, smooth—she gasped: it was a silver-pewter ring, cased in baked clay; careless little fingerprints lined the band at irregular intervals. A skull was set in the middle, a roughly hewn icon with miniscule glass-green beads for eyes. She slipped it through her finger and lifted her hand to examine it.

'It's beautiful, Emily,' she whispered. 'Thank you.'

A slow smile spilled across Emily's features, her eyes bright. 'You'll think of me whenever you wear it?'

'Always,' Naomi promised. She brushed a kiss to the back of Emily's hand softly, as if she were afraid she'd break under her touch. 'I'll wear it everywhere I go.'

Emily beamed and brought out the hand hidden behind her back: she held a tiny, plastic disposable camera—she hastily popped the back-latch loose and inserted a roll of film tucked away in her pocket. She clicked it shut and all but leapt into Naomi's lap, scrambling about for a comfortable position. 'For posterity,' she announced happily.

Naomi knitted her brows together and blanched, 'You want to take a photo of me?'

Emily turned to her and frowned, 'It's _your_ birthday. We always take photos together on our birthdays.'

'But, you're getting older, Emily,' she reasoned weakly. 'And, I don't turn up in any of your photos. I can't help it. What makes you think this time'll be any different?'

'It will be,' Emily insisted. 'You _feel _different, Naoms. More solid, somehow. More tangerine.'

Naomi tucked her chin against the crook of Emily's neck, 'Tangible, you mean?' Emily nodded eagerly; she sighed. 'It couldn't hurt to try one more time, I suppose,' she grumbled. Emily handed her the camera and she held it before them, tilted at an angle.

She wrapped her free arm around Emily's waist, Emily's hands curled around her wrist. She stuck her tongue out; Emily grinning for all she was worth.

'Say, 'pasteurized dairy product!'' she pressed the button, heard the click indicating the shot. Emily climbed off her and clapped her hands together eagerly.

'I'll have them developed on the way home from school next week,' she said. 'So, we can pick them up after _you _pick me up.'

'Sounds like a plan, Em,' she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully and nudged Emily's leg with a sock-covered toe. 'You better get going, though. The sooner you leave, the quicker I'll see you again.'

Emily smiled, her cheeks tinged a warm pink. 'I'll miss you, Naoms.'

Naomi stood up and pulled her in a tight embrace, feeling her little arms circle her waist without meeting at the back. The thought made her smile. 'I'll miss you every second of every day you're not with me,' she raised a hand solemnly. 'I promise.'

'I love you,' Emily said softly, her grip tightening for a beat.

**xx**

A loud, reverberating crash from the room opposite woke Katie rather roughly. 'Ems?' she cried, flailing around in bed with her eyes half-closed. 'Keep it down!'

She buried her head underneath the pillow, pulling the sheets closer about her. 'Sorry!' Emily yelped from across the hall, her voice sounding strangely muffled. 'I didn't think it'd be so heavy.'

'What are you doing?' Katie called out blearily. She rolled over onto her back and moaned as the sunlight blinded her through the half-drawn curtains of their tiny shared bedroom. 'Emily?'

'Looking for rings in the hall closet,' Emily poked her head through the crack in the door and smiled goofily at her. 'I'm getting married.'

'That's nice,' Katie muttered sleepily, slipping back into a foggy haze. 'Send me an invite.' Emily beamed at her before racing back down the hall. She frowned at the voices in the next room; much too loud, and excited, and carrying. She opened her eyes grudgingly and crawled sluggishly to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs onto the carpeted floor. She took the top sheet with her and padded to her parents' bedroom down the hall, all the while blinking sleep out of her eyes.

She pushed the door open with a foot and peeked in. Naomi raised a brow at her and smirked, 'Good morning, Katie.' She knocked softly on the closet door, 'Ems, your Maid-of-Honor has decided to grace us with her lovely presence.'

'Don't look!' Emily cried, beating on the other side of the closet door. 'I'm going out!' Naomi made a show of clapping her hands over her eyes and sat down on the bed obediently.

'Emily?' Katie gaped at her in surprise. 'What are you _wearing?' _Emily stepped shyly out of the closet wearing a knee-length white cotton playsuit, and gave a little twirl for her sister's appraisal.

'My wedding gown,' Emily smiled, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. 'D'you like it? I've even got _rings _and everything, I just need—'

'You can't wear that,' Katie cut her off sharply. 'That's mine. Mum bought me that last week at Debenhams. I haven't even _worn _it yet. Give it back.'

'But I haven't got anything else to wear,' Emily mumbled, looking down at her feet. 'Let me borrow it for today. Only today, Kay. I'll give it back, after I've washed it and everything.'

'No,' Katie said resolutely, spinning on her heels and walking back the way she'd come. 'You're to put it back in my closet _now, _you can find something else to wear.' She glanced back at her sister absently, ignoring the tears pooling in her eyes. 'Who on _earth _are you marrying anyway? It better not be that Cook kid—'

Emily made a face and stuck her tongue out defiantly, 'No! James is gross—'

'_Boys_ are gross,' Katie rolled her eyes impatiently. 'So, go on then. Who're you tying the knot with?' she asked with barely concealed curiosity. Emily colored up and shook her head, biting her thumb.

'Me,' Naomi said happily, stumbling to the door behind Emily, her hands still over her eyes. 'We were watching _A Wedding Story _on the Lifestyle Network and Emily decided she just _had _to get hitched all of a sudden—'

_'Naomi!' _Emily hissed, swatting her away embarrassedly.

Katie's brows flew to her hairline, 'You're marrying _Naomi?' _Naomi nodded cheerfully, Emily groaning beside her. Katie looked down at her feet, feeling troubled all of a sudden. Girls couldn't possibly marry other _girls. _Nobody did that. It wasn't right. Who would wear the suit? Would they both wear dresses? Would they both be called _wives? _Would their children have two _mums? _Katie glanced up at her sister who was still worrying her thumb between her teeth, scuffing her slip-ons against the carpet. 'You can't marry Naomi,' she decided, tilting her chin up stubbornly. 'That's that. Give back my playsuit, please.' She turned her back and walked back to her room.

'Why not?' Emily suddenly shouted, effectively startling both her sister and her impromptu fiancee who chanced a peek from behind her fingers in surprise. 'No peeking!' Emily nearly screamed, turning around swiftly and pummeling Naomi's stomach with her fists.

'Because you're both girls,' Katie said frustratedly, throwing her hands up. 'You can't get married if you're both _girls. _That's weird. You'd both wear dresses, and you'd both be _wives, _and you'd both be _mums, _and both of you can't be in the kitchen at the same time—who'd watch football in the living room with Coke and pizza like dad, then?'

'Nobody's going to watch football, or eat Coke and pizza,' Emily said angrily. 'We're both going to make dinner first, then watch _Flubber _with our kids—'

'Only a mummy and daddy can have a family!' Katie balled her fists, her temper flaring dangerously. 'You can't have that with Naomi, you can't have that with any _girl—' _

'I can have a family with whoever I want!' Emily screamed, rushing at her sister and tackling her to the floor. Naomi cried out and surged forward, yanking Emily away from her sister, her arms tight around her waist.

'Emily, _stop,' _Naomi pleaded, hauling her away roughly. Emily wailed, and flailed, and pummeled the air with her fists and legs, even as Katie got on her knees and started dry-heaving.

'I want to marry _you,' _Emily sobbed, her face purple with rage. Naomi pushed her hair back from her forehead, now sticky with sweat from her exertions, and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

'And so you shall, if that's what it takes to make you happy,' Naomi murmured soothingly, running her fingers lightly through her hair.

'She won't let me marry you,' Emily whimpered, wiping her eyes clumsily with the back of her hands.

Naomi nudged her nose with hers, 'She's got no say when it comes to true love.' Her eyes twinkled mischievously and Emily laughed weakly. Katie glared up at her with hate-filled eyes and scrambled to her feet.

'I'm telling mum when she gets home,' she spat. 'I'm not speaking to you the whole day.' She ran back to her room, nearly tripping over her blankets in her haste to lock the door.

Naomi looked down at Emily, 'Well, that was eventful. How 'bout it, then?' she offered her hand and helped Emily to her feet. They went down to the garden together and sat beside the patch of wildflowers growing by the fence. Emily fiddled with a sprig of baby's breath and sniffled quietly.

Naomi plucked it gently from her fingers and tucked it delicately into Emily's hair, promptly pulling out sprig after sprig until she held a tiny bouquet in her hands. 'There,' she smiled. 'You're a downright beauty, you are. The perfect bride.'

Emily's eyes watered, and she lowered the bouquet back onto her lap, 'Mum always said Katie would make the prettier bride because she has dimples—that's what she tells Aunt Grace all the time when they're talking about the shop, they're going to make her a model for their next issue of the wedding magazine. Aunt Grace calls me a homebody.'

'Oh, Emsy,' Naomi said softly, her eyes sad. She tilted her chin up with a finger, 'Don't you know how lovely you are?' She leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, 'Don't tell anyone I told you this, it's a secret—you're my favorite.'

Emily pushed her away, smiling grudgingly. 'You're bassed.'

'Biased,' Naomi corrected, grinning. 'And, maybe. A bit. But, that's a secret, too.' She pulled Emily onto her lap and reached into her pocket. Tucking her head on the curve of Emily's neck, she sighed contentedly, 'Do you, Emily Fitch, come here of your own free will and volition, to bind yourself to me, Naomi Campbell, in marriage?'

'I—I do,' Emily said hesitantly, threading their fingers together.

'Will you honor our bond for as long as you live?'

'I will.'

'Will—' Naomi bit back a laugh, the corner of her lip twitching involuntarily, '—You accept our children from God lovingly, and bring them up according to the Laws of the Catholic Church?'

'Naoms,' Emily turned back to look at her oddly. 'We're Presbyterians.'

'Well, _will _you?'

'I will, I will,' Emily said hastily. Satisfied, Naomi brought out two nearly identical construction nuts from her pocket, the same ones Emily had gone to all the trouble of finding in the storage tool box down the hall.

'In that case,' Naomi said grandly, brandishing the circular screws with pride. 'I, Naomi Campbell, take you to be my wife. I swear, before God and man today—'

'There aren't any witnesses—'

'Hush,' Naomi tutted. 'There are ants, there are birds, there are microscopic organisms _beneath _us, and don't even get me started on the Council,' she grumbled. 'That's good enough for me. Where was I?'

'You were swearing,' Emily prompted helpfully.

'—To be true to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health,' she slipped the nut on Emily's tiny ring finger gently. 'I will love and honor you, all the days of my life.' She kissed Emily's fingers once and held them tightly in her own.

'I promise before everyone and God to do everything you just said, too,' Emily said excitedly. She seized Naomi's hand and eagerly jammed on the other half of the nut on her pinky, as it was far too small to fit the other finger.

'We're legally married, now,' Naomi declared wryly. Emily squealed happily and clapped her hands together, swiveling about in Naomi's lap so they faced each other.

'So, kiss me,' Emily grinned. 'Isn't that what married people do all the time? Kiss?' Naomi suddenly looked uncomfortable, glancing everywhere but at her.

'Hypothetically,' she agreed, scratching her nose awkwardly. 'But, I don't think that'd be right, Ems, you know—given our current situation.'

'Why not?' Emily demanded, crossing her arms comically. 'They do it all the time in movies, why can't you—' her face suddenly fell, 'It's because we're both girls, isn't it?'

'It's not that at all,' Naomi laughed, leaning back against the fence. 'It has more to do with the fact that I'm chronologically and perpetually twenty-six, and you're, well, biologically _eight. _That's a bit awkward, don't you think? And vaguely pedophilic on my end,' she shuddered.

'Oh,' Emily frowned thoughtfully. 'I suppose. Do we shake on it instead, then?' she held out her hand hesitantly. Naomi glanced down at it in amusement.

'That doesn't seem right either,' she said. 'And making up a complicated secret handshake would be even worse, I imagine. Any better ideas?'

Emily suddenly leaned forward, her hands on Naomi's cheeks. Surprised, Naomi jolted backward, the back of her head colliding with the picket fence rather hard. Slowly, gently, Emily touched her nose to Naomi's and nuzzled it carefully before pulling back.

'Mum calls that an Eskimo kiss,' she bit her thumb shyly. 'It's still counts as a kiss in some countries,' she shrugged. Naomi touched the tip of her nose with a hand briefly before leaning forward and brushing theirs together again.

'Now, _that's_ something married couples can do all day,' she laughed, pulling back and wrapping her arms around Emily.

**xx**

'Aren't you a bit too old for imaginary friends, Emily?'

They strolled hand in hand down the faux-boardwalk, fingers sticky from syrup and candy floss. Naomi breathed shakily, suddenly terrified of broaching the topic, of sending Emily into hysterics. Emily sneezed abruptly, wiping her nose messily on the cuff of her denim jacket. The corners of her mouth were streaked with traces of crystallized sugar and pastry crumbs, her cheeks grown fuller with the passing years. She looked up at her and smiled, 'I'll never be too old for you, Naoms.'

Naomi bought her half a dozen pancakes from a stocky Italian grandfather, with skin the color of olives. Emily watched with ill-disguised awe as the man ladled the batter tantalizingly slowly onto the griddle. He made each one as big as a scooter wheel and thin as silk; he spread them with jelly and folded them twice before handing them over to her on a paper plate.

'Careful, now,' Naomi murmured. 'They're hot.' They ate quietly with their fingers by the sand-dunes; Emily sucked her fingers clean wistfully, and Naomi went and bought her another half a dozen.

'I wish Katie was here,' Emily whispered. 'She would've loved it.'

'Do you wish you'd gone with them, then?' Naomi tilted her head to look at her properly. 'It _was _quite unfair,' she said sadly.

Emily traced patterns on the sand with a finger, 'I just wish I didn't have to get sick before they left. I've never gone on a plane before. And, I wanted to see Nan. I haven't seen her in ages.'

'You went with them to Surrey last year,' Naomi ventured hesitantly. 'Remember? You mowed down her garden and everything.'

'It isn't the same,' her expression hardened. 'They didn't even bother trying to fuss, to _pretend_ to re-schedule a flight for my sake. Suze—you remember Suze? My cousin, Suze? With the doberman?'

Naomi snorted, 'Bloody thing nearly chewed my leg off, how could I not?'

'Right, well, she gave birth to Luke last month. She promised me I'd get to hold him first, before mum. Or dad. Or Katie, even,' she sifted a handful of sand between her fingers and sighed.

'Katie doesn't have fireworks tonight, though,' Naomi nudged her knee gently with her own and nodded towards the shoreline. A couple of teenagers planted rockets in the sand and ran from them like mad whenever they lit up. Soon, the sky was ablaze in a conflagration of colors—catherine-wheels and streamers spiraling through the inky black sky in a shower of sparks. Emily gripped her hand tightly and grinned at the sight.

'I wish it could be like this, everyday,' she mused, her eyes bright. Naomi let her breath out slowly and closed her eyes.

'You're growing too old, Ems,' she whispered, too quietly for her to hear. 'It's too soon. Too soon.'

**xx**

Emily had gotten a kite after lunch on her ninth birthday, and subsequently ruined both knees—no less than three hours later.

'Jesus Christ,' Naomi seethed, gingerly peeling off Emily's knee-socks from the raw skin. 'Three minutes. I leave you alone for _three _fucking _minutes _and you—' she clenched her teeth and shook her head. 'Fucking _hell, _Emily Fitch. Why can't you be more careful? I just had to—Oh, God. I think its—Oh, _God_. It's bleeding. It's bleeding again. Oh, my God.'

'I'm sorry,' Emily bit her lip, not sounding sorry at all. 'I didn't want the string to get cut.'

All the color drained out of Naomi's cheeks as she hastily staunched the bleeding with a kerchief. 'I could've fixed it easily,' she snapped. 'You only had to tell me where you'd lost it: I would've been there in less than a second. You didn't have to run down the goddamn hill and end up like _this! _What's your mother going to say? What if I hadn't found you quickly enough? What if you'd tumbled down the bloody thing and broken your sorry neck? How do you think that would've made me feel?'

'I can do some things on my own. I don't need to ask your help for everything,' Emily muttered sullenly. 'Besides, nothing else happened. I just tripped. You don't have to overreact all the time—'

Naomi gritted her teeth angrily, 'Yeah? Well, you won't have me all the time anymore anyway. So, don't worry. I'll be out of your hair soon enough, Fitch. You can put a bandage on your own, right? Obviously one of many things you don't need help doing anymore, either. Sorry I even asked.' She swiped a hand viciously through the air before her; a baby-blue box of Nexcare bandages materialized in her fist and she thrust it at her abruptly. 'I'll be by the benches on the other side, if you feel like going home. Then again, you can probably find your own way by now, right?'

She stood up and brushed down her jeans. Emily watched her trudge back up the hill, shoulders hunched and hands deep in her pockets before fading out of sight halfway through. She looked down at her sneakers and wound the kite string tightly around her pinky so tightly it turned purple in seconds.

'Be like that then, you horrible, old git!' Emily cried, glaring at the hill. She untangled the string from her finger and took off down the grassy field again, the wind whistling in her ears and the kite rising higher above her. She slipped twice on gravel afterward, taking a twisted, masochistic pleasure in defying her Keeper in the most inane ways possible.

When the light began to fade, she made her way slowly back up the hill. Her heart thundered hard in her chest; she felt guilty and apprehensive all of a sudden—Naomi was only looking out for her. She was _always _looking out for her. But, the look she'd caught in those eyes just before she walked away was frightening. She was angry, that much was clear. But, she was also pained. Like, Emily had hurt her physically. And, what she had said, then—

A sharp stab of cold fear erupted in the base of her stomach and she found herself racing up the grassy hillside, slipping every now and then as her sneakers failed to find traction against the slopes. Surely she hadn't meant that at all? It was a joke done in bad taste, obviously. Naomi was angry; naturally, she'd say things she didn't really mean, like _she _had earlier. She doubled over at the crest, clutching a painful stitch at her side. Panting and completely out of breath, she straightened up and brushed the sweat out of her eyes.

She froze.

The benches were empty.

She scanned the picnic area quickly, turning in place to do a complete circuit but there was no one else in sight. She was completely alone.

'Naomi!' she cried, running to the bench and grasping at the air, as if she half-expected to feel Naomi beneath her fingertips despite her arbitrary invisibility. Panic welled up inside her quickly and she felt tears prick her eyes. Naomi wouldn't leave her, Naomi cared far too much to let her alone. Naomi _loved _her. But, with each passing minute without a tangible-Naomi in sight, she found it increasingly difficult to believe.

_Then again, you can probably find your own way by now, right? _She tamped the fear down as best she could and bristled defiantly: if Naomi had left her to fend for herself, then so be it. She would drive a point. She tucked the kite under her arm and wound the string carefully around a plastic spindle before placing it in her pocket, a trick her father had taught her earlier that day. It seemed a lifetime ago as she made her way over to the bus stop briskly, the breeze whipping her hair off her shoulders and into her face. She felt cold, miserable and alone, but mostly indignant—furious at the fact that Naomi had the nerve to leave her after a petty argument.

She stopped in her tracks abruptly: the main road was busy with the buzz and traffic from over a hundred working-men and commuters, all headed home in the evening rush. She fidgeted helplessly by the stop, frightened of taking her chances along the road, never having been taught how to cross the street alone. She glanced up at the stoplight and whispered a feverish prayer of supplication to all the deities she knew to hold the red light a little longer than it normally would. She screwed her eyes tight and took a tentative step forward.

An arm braced against her chest.

Her eyes flew open; Naomi was beside her, arm flung out to stop her. 'You don't cross the street in the last few seconds of a red-light,' she said exasperatedly. 'And, you certainly don't cross the street with your eyes _closed. _Some things, I think,' she glanced down at Emily with a sad smile. 'You still me need around for, unfortunately.'

Emily blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling in relief. They stood side-by-side in silence a little longer, waiting for the next red light to roll by. 'Imagine,' Naomi mumbled softly, her brows creased together. 'If you'd crossed the street when you wanted to, earlier? You would've been flattened. Christ.' A truck hurtled past them swiftly, a thousand pounds of steel and cargo, as if to prove a point.

The yield-light blinked. 'Right,' Naomi moved to stand in front of her before dropping to a crouch. 'Up you get,' she looked over her shoulder and winked.

Emily looked appalled, 'What, like, on your back? But,' she swallowed thickly. 'You're, you know, imaginary. What will people see if I get on you?'

She shrugged indifferently, 'Something they want to see to make it easier for them to process. Probably a bum—to them, I'll probably look like a homeless vagrant carrying you off to our next garbage bin dinner raid. Highly likely. You'll never know.' Emily's eyes widened in disbelief. 'I'm kidding,' Naomi rolled her eyes and snickered. 'They'll see me, Ems. Just this once. Now, get on, for Christ's sake. The red light won't hold forever.'

Emily clambered on awkwardly, linking her arms around Naomi's neck. Naomi stood up with ease despite her burden, tucking Emily's legs over her arms on either side of her. She didn't set her down, even after they'd made it across the street. They continued up Brandon Hill quietly, the tension between them thickening substantially with every step.

'I'm sorry,' Emily whispered ashamedly, burying her face in Naomi's hair. 'I didn't mean to say those things to you. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Naoms. I know you were only worried about me. Please don't be angry at me anymore.' Her voice wavered; she tightened her grip and tried not to cry.

'I'm sorry, too,' Naomi sighed. 'I'm sorry I lost my temper like that, and said some pretty bad words nobody should ever have to hear. I'm sorry _you _had to hear them. I just—I felt sad to be reminded by you, of all people, that you're growing up far too quickly for either of our liking. That the day is fast approaching when you wake up and realize you don't need me anymore.'

'That's never going to happen,' Emily insisted earnestly. 'I'll always want you around, Naoms. Always.'

'But, you won't always _need _me. They're two different things, Emily. And my terms, well. They only apply to the other.'

Emily paled, 'Did you mean what you said to me earlier, then? About not being around me anymore? About leaving me for good?' She pulled back and braced her hands against Naomi's shoulder-blades; they pulled up short. 'Naomi?'

'You'll always be my little girl, Emily,' she whispered weakly. 'But, you won't always be little. And, there are limits to everything—to time, to age, to place, to child. Emily, you're nine, now, sweetie.' She faltered, closed her eyes to stem the tears threatening to fall. 'Our time's nearly up.'

'No,' Emily shook her head, slowly, then increasingly frantic. 'No. No, _no, no, no!' _she struggled against Naomi's hold and kicked herself free. Naomi whirled about to catch her, but a fist connected with her stomach, then her shoulders, her chest; every bit of her that Emily could get her hands on. 'You promised you'd stay with me! You promised, Naomi. This isn't fair! You said _always, _you promised. You promised!' she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. She pounded Naomi relentlessly, 'You lied to me! You lied! You said you loved me—'

'I do love you, Emily,' Naomi pleaded. 'I never lied about that, I never lied about anything—please let me explain—'

'—So, why are you leaving me? If you loved me, you wouldn't go. You wouldn't leave me with _them. _Don't you want me anymore? Are you tired of me? I'm sorry, Naoms,' she sobbed, her arms going limp against Naomi's chest. 'I won't be annoying anymore, and I'll listen to everything you say, and—'

'Emily,' she whispered, dropping to her knees so they were level with each other. 'I love you. And, if I had any say in all this, I would choose to be with you forever. I swear it. But,' a tear traced down her cheek as she took Emily's little hands in hers, felt them tremble in her grasp. 'I don't.'

'I hate you,' Emily said quietly, her voice hard. 'I _hate _you! Fine, I don't ever want to see you again! Go away, then! Go on, go away! Go!' she shoved Naomi backward with all the strength she could muster. 'I don't want you anymore! I hate you!'

Startled, Naomi landed backward, her hand barely managing to brace her fall. 'Emily—' But, Emily flew down the sidewalk towards her home, slamming the door shut behind her so hard she heard it up along the street. She closed her eyes and thought of Emily—_her _sweet, cheery, thoughtful, little Emily—lying curled up in her bed all alone, sobbing her heart out. Her faith broken, one too many times.

**xx**

'Tomorrow,' she said quietly, twisting the ring on her finger agitatedly. 'I promised Them tomorrow.'

'Emily took it hard, then?' JJ looked sympathetic. He swirled the can and took a long swig before offering it to her, 'Cherry Coke?'

She shook her head, 'They all take it hard. Ending it—It's never easy. I hate saying goodbye.' She ran a hand through her hair. 'You should've seen the way she looked at me, Jay; like, she wasn't my Emily anymore. She ran from me.'

'She's nice, though. Give her some credit. Remember mine, three cycles ago? The feisty little socialite in Fulham? She clubbed me on the head with her mother's Jimmy Choos—they were _stiletto _heels!' he grumbled. He rubbed the back of his head, as if the memory pained him. 'She'll get over it,' he said kindly. 'They always do. They can't help it. They promise, of course. Swear they won't forget; cherish the memories. But, they do. It's not their fault, obviously—some things are more important than others, and sometimes, old memories give way to accommodate newer ones. That's the way things have worked, at least, for as long as we can remember. She'll be okay.'

'Will she?' she mumbled wistfully. 'She still needs someone to look after her.' She crossed her arms and brought her knees up, curling in on herself. 'Someone needs to look after my Emily.'

'I'd offer,' he said sadly. 'But, you know the rules. Hands-off, no interference after disconnection. It'll be kinder, for you both. You'll see. I just didn't think—' he trailed off and bit his lip.

She looked up at him sharply, 'Didn't think what, Jay?' He swallowed with difficulty, stumbling over his words carefully, cautiously.

'I just didn't think you'd grow so attached. I mean, we all do, yeah? But, we accept the terms as they come, and when we need to leave, we just do. No regrets, no backward glances, no tears. And, you of all people, well. It was always easier for you, then.' He shifted uncomfortably and scratched the tip of his nose. 'I mean, no offense, or anything.'

'None taken,' she sighed heavily. 'It's just that—She's different, Jay. If you'd taken her instead, you'd know what I'm talking about. If I had a choice, I wouldn't leave her. Her sister, Katie—She'll grow up with a streak a mile long, that one. With a reputation and attitude to match, pound for pound. 'Course, being the elder twin, it would be easier to trust her with Emsy, you know? She's always been stronger, always more willful. Emily sort of slips in behind her, if you could see them, you'd be able to tell. It's like, she—'

'Hides in her shadow? Oh, everyone can see that. _I _see them everyday, remember?' he rummaged in his pocket and unwrapped a sweet fussily. 'Lemon drop?' he offered.

'She doesn't know her own worth, yet. She's an unlit fuse, waiting for something—anything—to spark her into existence,' she peeled the sticky sweet off the plastic wrap and stuck it on the tip of her finger, waved it around. 'She'll be the best of them all, just you wait.' She popped it in her mouth and bit it in half. 'I need to say goodbye, first. Properly.'

'I thought she didn't want to see you?' he frowned. 'And, you don't _bite _into those. They're meant to be savored slowly.'

'It doesn't matter. I need to see her one last time. I ruined her birthday,' she stood up from the bench. 'I need to apologize for a lot of things, Jay.'

'You don't need to be sorry for anything,' he argued plaintively. 'She knew you were temporary. You were borrowed. You've got a return date stamped across your arse. You were supposed to be gone on the eve of her eighth, but you asked for an extension. You're _way _overdue, Campbell. The Council isn't exactly, well, pleased. The longer you drag out the farewells, the more difficult it'll be.'

'Then let it _be _difficult!' she cried. 'It's my heart I'm breaking here, right? Mine on the line—not yours, not Theirs. I don't expect you to understand, Jones. You didn't love her like I did. You never loved anyone at all.'

'That isn't true,' he flinched, clearly stung. 'I've got Lara, and little Albert—'

'You know what I'm talking about,' she said impatiently. 'Emily's all I've got, and I—'

'For now!' he shouted angrily. 'You'll cycle through again! She won't be the last, no matter how much you want her to be. There'll be a thousand more after her, and a thousand more after them. That's the way our shit works, Campbell. You think I didn't plead for Cassie in my last cycle? She meant the world to me, too,' his eyes blazed. 'I begged, Campbell. I _cried _before Them, I asked for a loophole—anything. I degraded myself in every way possible to keep her, but they wouldn't listen. They never do. You know that. She needed me to look after her, I wanted to give her the strength to pull through. She died six months ago. It was a complication of the cancer, they said. But, I knew better. I'd broken her heart, and she never recovered. She was only six, Naomi,' he wiped his eyes furiously, his cheeks red.

'She had her whole life ahead of her, and I couldn't do a thing to save her. You're not the only one, Campbell. If you think this is unfair, well, I'm fucking sorry to disappoint you, but welcome to the goddamn club. Shit happens. Deal with it.' He brushed past her roughly and stalked off.

He glanced back over his shoulder, 'They told me to tell you that you have until six, tomorrow evening.' He slammed his fist against the chain-link fence on his way out and dissolved into the breeze.

**xx**

Emily sat bolt upright as the bed dipped beside her.

'Hush, Emsy,' Naomi murmured against her hair. 'Do you want Katie to hear?'

She furrowed her brows and blinked, 'Naoms? Where are you? I can't see you—' Naomi materialized beside her, arms wrapped comfortingly around her. She swallowed back a fresh wave of tears, 'I thought you'd gone. You didn't come back for me last night.' She threw her arms around her neck and buried her face against her chest. 'I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I'm so sorry,' Naomi felt her smile weakly against her skin. 'I knew you'd come back. I knew you'd stay. I prayed for you last night. Katie and I, we prayed for you.'

Naomi threw her head back and blinked back tears, touched the tip of her nose to Emily's temple, the only bit of her she could reach this close. 'Put some clothes on, Emsy. Let's go out. Just you and me.' She pulled back and smiled at her, her lip quivering.

Emily jumped up quickly and paced softly through the room, careful not to wake Katie as she pulled open her drawers. 'But, Naoms,' she frowned in realization. 'It's a Thursday. I've got classes today.'

'Screw classes,' Naomi reached for her and drew her into her arms. 'Just this once, I mean. Just for today. Go on, take a shower. Don't bother about breakfast, I'll take care of that. Meet me downstairs by the bus-stop in twenty.' Emily kissed her cheek swiftly and barely managed to stifle a squeal of excitement as she barreled out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Naomi looked up to see Emily running pell-mell towards her, arms swinging wildly and half her coat dangling from a shoulder. She was trying to wind a scarf about her neck single-handedly, while the other hand was preoccupied with lugging her lunch box about clumsily. She was out of breath by the time she drew up short, bracing her arms against Naomi's stomach to steady herself.

'You look wonderful,' Naomi laughed, helping her shrug into the coat properly. 'Like something the cat dragged in.' She pulled the scarf snugly about her neck and reached into her pockets. 'Here,' she brought out a pair of brown leather gloves. 'You can put these on.' She dangled one in front of her by the finger and held it out. 'It'll be cold where we're going.'

Emily took them reverently, and ran her fingers over the textured leather. 'Mum says leather's ridiculously expensive. She's always pestering dad for a handbag, but he says that's too presumptuous of her to ask of him, especially since he thinks he might lose the gym soon.' She pulled on its leather fingers and looked up at her sadly, 'But they won't fit, Naoms. They're your size.'

'What, and your little fingers can't compensate for the ridiculous amount of space left behind by my freakishly long ones in comparison?' Naomi raised a brow and chuckled. 'Put them on, Emsy. Go on. They'll fit you too, you'll see.'

Emily pulled them on hesitantly, tugging the leather over her wrists. Her eyes widened when the tips of the gloves moulded around hers perfectly. 'How did—How d'you that?' she asked incredulously.

Naomi shrugged, 'One of many things I can do for you. One of many things that make me irrefutably perfect.' She laughed when Emily's fist connected with her stomach in jest. 'I can also do this, by the way. Don't tell your mum now, or she'll never let me go.' She glanced down the empty street and whistled. Emily flew back in shock as a diamond-white coupe raced towards them from out of thin air, stopping smoothly in front of Naomi.

Naomi whistled appreciatively, 'Oh, back then, the best I could do was a Prius. Christ, she's beautiful.' She pulled open the door and gestured for Emily to get in the passenger seat. Emily blinked in shock.

'You want me to—ride _shotgun?' _

Naomi looked at her quizzically, 'You've never?' Emily shook her head. Naomi grinned widely, 'There's a first for everything, then. Up you get, sweetie.' She strapped herself in quickly, smoothing her palms down the upholstery of her seat appreciatively.

Naomi got in beside her and whistled again as she ran a hand down the console, while the other gripped the steering wheel. Her face contained barely concealed joy, 'Oh, Emsy,' she muttered breathlessly. 'It's a CL65 AMG Coupe.' She glanced at Emily eagerly, only to find her staring back blankly.

'A _what?'_

She frowned, gesturing with her hands slowly, 'You know, its—er—fast? 'Cause, its, like, AMG? You know, the racing division? It's a Mercedez!' she said excitedly. 'It's got leather upholstered seats, and a five-speed shift transmission, and Advanced Parking Guidance, and a media interface, and—' she trailed off at the sight of Emily's brows creased together in confusion. '—And, its—It's just a wickedly fancy car,' she sighed, grumbling. Emily giggled at her tone and adjusted her lunch-box in her lap.

'It's a really nice car, Naoms,' she said. Naomi nodded eagerly in agreement. 'So, where are we going, exactly?'

Naomi shrugged, starting the engine up casually. 'Somewhere,' she said, feigning nonchalance.

'Like, New York?' Emily asked skeptically, crossing her arms over her seat belt. 'That's a _somewhere.'_

'Anywhere,' Naomi winked mischievously. 'Although, I've got something a lot better in mind.'

**xx**

In all honesty, they only drifted through Harrods for the better part of twenty minutes, until Emily lost interest completely. But, the look on her face made up for all the times Naomi swore up and down trying to find her in the thick crowds.

'So,' Naomi's lip twitched. 'Do you feel a sudden urge to, oh, I don't know, lapse into an uncontrollable fit of madness and start throwing things through glass shelves?'

Emily grinned at the memory and stuck her tongue out, 'No, not really. I do, however, feel a strange stirring in the depths of my gut.'

'Oh?' she lifted a brow amusedly. 'It wouldn't happen to be gas now, would it?'

'No,' Emily continued, mock-seriously. 'It might be a serious case of Disinterest. Keep off, Naoms. It might be terminal.'

Naomi laughed until tears traced down her cheeks, 'I think I'll take my chances, yeah? My immune system's in top-notch condition.' She glanced about until her gaze landed on a calf-skin handbag a ways off behind Emily. Her brows lifted appreciatively and she nodded to Emily, grinning at the look of comprehension reflected back at her. She led them towards it and stood on the tips of her toes to read the fine print on the label out loud.

'One-hundred-percent genuine calf-skin leather; Swarovski diamond. Made in Italy. Special Care Instructions: Hand-wash,' she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 'If it looks like a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag, smells like a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag, is _priced _like a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag, then therefore, logic dictates that it must indeed be—?'

'A genuine Louis Vuitton handbag,' Emily finished with ill-disguised awe. 'Oh, mum is going to _flip _if she ever finds out I was within touching distance of one of these things. Why do people want these anyway? When it all comes down to it, they're all just bags. Fancy bags, but, you know. Still bags.'

Naomi shrugged dismissively, 'Beats me, Ems. Could be a hobby, maybe. Like, you know, when people collect stamps, or, I don't know, teeth from dead U.S. Presidents, or something. Now, if you ask me, the only thing I want to do with one of these things anyway is provide substantial proof of our little road-trip. Shall we?' She held up Emily's disposable camera and tossed it from hand to hand. Emily smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

'Will I see you when I get them developed?' she asked hesitantly, feeling rather shy and uneasy all of a sudden. Naomi waved her concerns away faux-haughtily.

'Tut, tut, 'course you'll see me. I _want _to be in this one, too, you know. Besides, I think They'll be lenient,' she glanced upward quickly. 'Just this once.' She crouched down and held out her arms, pretended to stagger back when Emily threw herself into them excitedly. She carried her properly with an arm, while the other held the camera away from them. She stepped back once or twice, trying to find an angle to accommodate the handbag behind them.

'Right,' she muttered. 'That should probably—Right. This one's a keeper, I can tell. Say when, Emsy.'

'Say, 'pasteurized dairy product!'' the shutter clicked a few times, and Emily struggled not to laugh out loud at the faces Naomi was making in her direction.

Naomi shoved the camera back into her coat pocket, refusing to relinquish her hold on the little burden in her arms, which Emily was only too happy about. 'So,' she said, as they made their way out of the store and into the frosty streets of Londontown. 'Where to, sweetie?'

Emily tightened her grip around Naomi's neck as she swiveled about to look. Her eyes lit up and she pointed—with all the energy of a marooned sailor who'd spotted a ship—across a store at the far end of the road to their immediate left. Naomi groaned.

'Pret a Manger? You can't be serious.'

'Chocolate muffins!' Emily squealed with pleasure.

**xx**

'This isn't home yet, Naoms,' Emily peered out the power windows and glanced back at her doubtfully.

'I know, we have to stop here though, I'm afraid,' Naomi looked at her sheepishly. 'I don't know what your neighbors would think if a Mercedez dropped you off at the doorstep, all casual-like. They might tell your parents, and I don't want to get you into heaps of unnecessary trouble after we'd had such a lovely day.' She chanced a glance at the analog clock by the console and bit back a curse: five thirty-eight.

'Oh, right,' Emily bit her thumb. 'I've had such a lovely day,' she said dreamily. 'London is amazing, Naoms. Can we go back again sometime? We can take Katie on the Eye again, and show her around Camden Town, and 'course she'll see Big Ben, like she's always wanted to, and have her photo taken with the Buckingham guards, and take the tube to Battersea to see the Power Station, and we can show her how to jump the chain—' She prattled on, oblivious to Naomi's silence as they stepped out onto the road. As soon as her feet touched the pavement, the coupe behind her vanished into nothing. Naomi reached down to take her hand, threading their fingers together.

'Emily,' Naomi cut her off gently. 'Can I see the photos we took today? Please?' She dug around in her lunch box and fished out a packet. Naomi dropped to a crouch and tugged her back, pulling on her hand. Emily took the hint and clambered on her back easily, lacing her fingers at Naomi's throat as carefully as possible while holding onto the photos. She tucked her chin against the curve of Naomi's shoulder as she shuffled through the shots they'd taken.

'This is my favorite,' she said, she smiled fondly and snuggled closer. Naomi ran her fingers over the glossy print—across Emily frozen mid-laugh, stripes and streaks of chocolate all over her mouth, her fists clutching a take-away paper bag from Pret a Manger while she carried her with both arms, leaning casually against a ticket-meter, the Thames behind them—and choked back a sob.

'It's mine, too,' she managed thickly. 'I like it a lot.' Her voice dropped to a whisper; Emily must have cottoned on to her growing disquiet because she pressed her palms against Naomi's cheeks gently.

'You can keep it, Naoms. I've got the film roll, after all. I can always print another one,' she said softly.

Naomi nodded, 'Thanks, Emsy.' She slipped it inside her coat pocket and pulled her arms tighter about her neck. Tried not to notice the time on Emily's neon-pink wristwatch. They made their way home in silence; Emily noticing halfway through that the quiet that permeated the air was born out of something else entirely. There were layers of clothes and a thousand miles in between them. Naomi slowed to a stop by the mailbox, her shoulders slumped, her steps grown heavy. All of a sudden, Emily had a sudden sense of forbidding terror; a force that compelled her to stay.

For once, she didn't want to go back inside.

'Emily,' Naomi whispered, and Emily caught the tremble in her voice. 'Go on upstairs.' She bent back and lowered her gently to the pavement, disentangling their fingers. 'Go on.'

'No, I'll wait. We can go together, we can tell Katie stories about today. We can—'

'Emily, please,' she sounded pained, her voice wavering. Emily's brows crumpled together: that was how _she _sounded, right before she started to cry. She reached out to hold onto her hand, but Naomi shook her head, shoved her hand back in her pocket. 'Please. Your parents might get home early, and if they catch you out here at this time of night, they'll ask questions you don't want to answer. Give Katie the muffin you brought home for her.'

'So, go on up with me,' she said insistently. 'Why won't you? Why can't we go together?'

Naomi closed her eyes, her lip trembling. When she opened them again, they blazed with a pale fire; the same one Emily had seen that day at the docks.

'Please. For me.'

Emily stepped back, the weight of authority in Naomi's voice was evident, but it was laced with something else—something almost akin to sorrow, though that couldn't be right—and she knew better than to argue. Naomi shifted restlessly, her heart pounding double-time.

_Five fifty-seven._

'Alright,' Emily said quietly, slinging her lunch box over a shoulder. She sounded uncertain, and frightened. 'I'll—I'll see you upstairs, alright? You can come in through the window, like always. In case mum comes home before you do, I mean. Or, you can, you know, just pop out of nowhere. I won't mind. I won't be scared anymore. I promise.' She cast her gaze downward when Naomi offered nothing in reply, and turned back towards the front door.

'Emily, wait—' Naomi's hand shot out and gripped her tightly at the wrist. She whirled back in surprise, Naomi sank to her knees before her and took her hands tightly in her own. 'You have to remember everything I told you, Emily Fitch. Everything. Everything I ever said to you about being more important than you think you are; about being more talented than people say you are; about being more beautiful than people think you to be; about being anyone you want to be; about being the most special person in the entire planet; about not forgetting who you are as a person; about staying the way you are, no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says; about knowing your worth; about striving to reach your dreams, no matter the cost; about not letting people put you down, letting them get to you when they talk bad about you. You won't forget, you _swear _to me now, you won't forget.' Her hands shook, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her tears at bay. But, she leveled her gaze, daring her—as she once did, once upon a time—to look away. Emily looked confused, the fear growing in her eyes.

'Naoms, I don't—'

'Swear to me, now. Please. Promise me. Please, promise me.'

'I—I promise,' Emily paled. 'Naomi, you aren't—'

'I love you, Emily Fitch. Do you understand? Do you hear me? I love you. And, you can think anything of me afterward; say anything about me, against me; swear at me half the time; question the existence of the universe, your very existence, everything you ever believed in, but, Emily Fitch, I love you. And never—never, _ever, _no matter what happens—doubt that. Time will change many things, Emily Fitch, but not my love. It will not waver, it will not diminish. This I promise _you_. It doesn't matter if you forget, or if you refuse to believe in it—'

_Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven. Fifty-six._

'—But, never doubt it. Do you understand, Emily? Never doubt it. I have never cared for anyone the way I cared for you, and I don't think I will, in the same way, for anyone, ever again. You'll go places, Fitch. Places—'

_Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven._

'—I believe in you. I've always believed in you. Listen to me,' she was frantic now, fighting for time. 'If you want to, everything you want to keep from me, of me, hide it under your pillow tonight. Alright? You understand, Emily? Hide it under your pillow. They'll take everything, Emily. Destroy everything that had to do with me; it'll be like I never existed. But, it's a secret, alright? Keep it under your pillow. So, you'll know—That I was real. That _we _were real. Alright?' She was breathless. A tear slipped down her cheek, but Emily failed to notice it in her distress.

'Naoms, why're you telling me this? Why do you sound like you're—' she clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes brimming almost immediately. 'No, please, you wouldn't—Naomi, please—No—'

_Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six._

'Go on, Ems. Please,' she said gently. 'Trust me. It'll be okay. Alright? Go on upstairs. Katie's waiting for you, I can hear her from here. Please. For me.'

Emily bounded forward, leaping towards her. She caught her mid-stride, and held her close, pulled her tight. 'Don't go, Naoms. Don't go, alright? Not yet, please. You'll stay with me, won't you? You just need time to think, right? I'll wait, Naoms. I'll wait for you upstairs. You'll go, you'll talk to Katie, too, won't you, Naoms? You promise?' she tightened her grip, and pulled back to look at her, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Naomi pulled away carefully and struggled for words. 'I—I promise, Emsy. I promise.' Emily smiled shakily, thoroughly put at ease by the assurance in her tone. She brushed the tears from her cheeks and laughed nervously in relief.

'Don't be too long,' she leaned up and kissed her on the cheek before racing up the driveway, towards the front door.

_Five._

Emily slammed the front door shut behind her, the faint sound of her little feet pattering against the wooden floorboards drifted through the air.

_Three._

A fierce, blustery wind howled through the air suddenly—Kent Regis from the six-o'clock news on Channel Eight pulled his coat tighter about him, warning viewers about an impending mid-season monsoon wind brought about by the sudden changes in the north-Atlantic currents.

_One._

She didn't look back.

* * *

**Let me know what you think! I'd really appreciate feedback—let me know if you love it, hate it, are confused by it, think it belongs in the bin, feel like buying it dinner. I'd also like to hear whether or not you think it's worth pursuing; the idea came to me rather abruptly sometime last October, and I wrote it down in a near-frenzy sometime November, so I'm not really that confident about it, to be honest.**

**Thank you, darlings! Much love. x**


	2. Tracklist I

**Gosh, you're all so lovely. I've fallen in love with all of you, too! Thank you for receiving my latest brain-child so warmly, can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me! Also, I do mean to reply to each and every one of your reviews, so let me get 'round to doing that, right after I get this up.**

**Right, so this **_**isn't **_**a chapter update, let's get that out of the way first. But, I **_**will**_** get an update probably tomorrow, or Thursday at the latest—so keep your hunting hats and pitchforks at bay, please!**

**I****t is imperative, I think, that I stress to you the importance of listening to these songs while reading; or at the very least, **_**relate **_**them to the story as you read. Personally, I'm not exactly a rip-roaring fan of song-fics, unless they're really, **_**really**_** well written, which—unfortunately-isn't always the case, but I **_**do **_** believe in spinning together a mixtape cum soundtrack **_**for **_**a story. These songs started out as bits and pieces—bits and pieces I'd listen to while writing the first chapter because they said a lot about the characters, and their situation, and just generally, set the mood for the entire thing.**

**Here's to hoping you take the time to listen to them: they're really quite lovely, and they make for brilliant snippet-soundtrack material!**

* * *

**Never Grow Up – Taylor Swift**

This is, quite arguably, Taylor Swift's sweetest song. Now, if you're not exactly a huge fan of her music, that's fine—but seriously, though, _Do. Not. Skip. This. Song. _Here's the thing, it's the nonexistent memory montage I never gave you as a back story; Naomi came into Emily's life when she was relatively young. Young enough at least, to yearn for a friend she couldn't find in anyone else—so she was around, three, I suppose. Naomi practically raised her by hand, and I'd like to think that she fulfilled all the roles the elder Fitches could not give Emily: tucking her in at night, every night; telling her stories before bed; cheering her up when she felt particularly low, which was practically every day.

Also, this?

_Oh darling, don't you ever grow up__  
__Don't you ever grow up, it could stay this simple__  
__I won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart_

I don't think Naomi can bear the idea of Emily growing up without her, much less differently; and it completely describes her self-pledged promise to little Ems. Oh, love. So much love for this song.

**Be Gentle With Me – The Boy Least Likely To**

Honestly, this song should've been JJ's theme all throughout his episode, season four, because it's just _so _perfect for him. But, _please. _Step aside, JJ, you've had your moment in the sun with the goddamn ukelele—Naomily needs all the screen time it can get, am I right? Anyway, I'd like to think that this is Naomi's initial hesitancy in taking up a new charge in the form of a certain Emily Fitch.

_So, just be gentle with me_

_I'm not as young as I was_

While Naomi is exempted from the laws of time-space relativity and, well, aging in general, she _is _quite old by anyone's standards. That is to say, she's been in the business longer than most. More on that though, later.

_I guess I've always needed__  
__To be needed by someone__  
__It's a comforting feeling__  
__Being under someone's thumb_

Naomi exists solely because there are children in the world who need her, and this particular aspect of her existence, while not exactly comforting in essence, is reassuring in its familiarity. She cycles through charges with ease; a feat that surprises JJ himself because disconnecting from a child isn't easy. Emily changes everything though, and so, for the first time in her life, she finds herself treading carefully.

**Save Me a Dream – Paul Williams**

Confession time: I am in love with Paul Williams. This is probably one of his most brilliant pieces, _ever. _I love the fact that he writes every single one of his songs so each one is, you know, uniquely special.

_Some call you crazy  
Convinced that you're lazy  
If you dream by day _

Jenna Fitch. Oh, Jenna Fitch. Jenna Fitch is appalled to think that her daughter still has imaginary friends at the supposedly stable age of seven or so years. But, our ladies know better—and apparently, Katie does, too.

_Save me a dream as secure as your arms,_

_A shelter where we both belong  
And our love can bring the stars  
Even close than they seem _

This, I think, requires no further explanation.

**Daylight – Tyler Ward, Chester See, and Lindsey Sterling; Cover**

Naomi came into her life with a return-date stamped across her forehead, that much was clear to Emily. She was only temporary. She was borrowed. But, children like to think that they hold the world in their hands, and that the goings-on of the universe are the consequences of their actions—ego-centrism at its finest, and Emily is no exception. And, so she sought to find a way to avoid relinquishing her hold on Naomi, because she'd grown dependent on her constant affection. But, Naomi, knowing full well that there was no existing loophole, could not find it in herself to warn Emily of her impending departure sooner. This song reflects her hurt and fear at being separated, from her, perfectly.

_I never wanted to stop because I don't wanna start all over  
I was afraid of the dark but now it's all that I want _

Every passing day brings the Inevitable Day closer to both of them, but the severity of the situation presented itself to her clearly during that night at the boardwalk, with Emily's ninth birthday looming ever nearer. That particular line in the song says much, I think, regarding her desperation, and her desire for more time with her, not to mention her fear at letting her go and finding another charge to look after.

**Lily – The Dodos**

_Look at yourself, look at me, dear  
How did we become this tear?  
Why can we learn to subtract?  
You are lit, but behind I see black_

Skins has some of the loveliest montages in British television history. Let's pretend that this is the song that plays during one of them. It plays during the filler-scene after Emily runs from Naomi in tears after coming to the earth-shattering epiphany that sadly, happiness isn't permanent. Naomi's basically wondering how it all went wrong, why she has to leave at all, to begin with. Emily's all smiles and optimism and innocence all the time, but Naomi knows better—it's a cleverly fashioned facade to hide the crippling disappointment, the fears, the self-depreciation, the inferiority, inside.

_It's time against your back._

Time is something they've never really had much of, the one luxury Naomi cannot indulge her in. It'll be Emily's greatest _hamartia _as well—it'll change everything later on. Everything.

**What Would They Say – The Company; Cover**

Oh, Christ. This. _This _is the song that plays when Naomi spirits Emily away for one last day with her. I love the idea of Naomi asking her to forget all about the incessant buzzing in the background—in the form of her family and school; without troubling herself with the demands of the Council regarding Emily—to spend an uninhibited day, reveling in each other's company.

_What would they say, if we up and ran away?_

_Through the roaring crowd, and the worn out city faces_

_Would they carry on and on, if they found out we were gone?_

_Or would they let us go? _

It's one of the saddest songs I've ever had the pleasure of listening to, but also, one of the most beautiful. I stumbled upon this cover on YouTube, and it is, quite honestly, so much better than the original by John Travolta, and or, Paul William's version.

**Lights – Ellie Goulding**

This bit's all Emily. To her, Naomi is the only proverbial ray of sunshine in her otherwise drab, and rather desolate life. She was—at the very heart of it all, really—the only person she could truly come home to.

_You show the lights that stop me, turn to stone,__  
__You shine it when I'm alone__  
__And so I tell myself that I'll be strong__  
__And dreaming when they're gone_

In the aftermath of Naomi's departure, I'd like to think that Emily had a good long while thinking about the kind of life she'd most likely live without Naomi in it. Difficult, but not impossible. Again, the track for the montage I never gave you after the chapter's last sentence.

**Speak Up – POP ETC**  
The Council Naomi answers to poses restrictions and rules that need to be followed and enforced to maintain order; one of these is the gradual, involuntary forgetfulness on the charge's part.

_Oh, what lengths we go  
To put the past away  
Oh, how many drops can you squeeze out to explain  
What happened one day?_

_When we meet another way,  
You won't recognize my face  
When we meet, one way or another,  
You won't speak up_

This is one of the prettiest songs I've ever heard from them. They're right up there, next to The Dodos, Two Door Cinema Club, The New Pornographers, The Script, and The Boy Least Likely To. Either way, it _has _ to be in the story, because it says much, and yet leaves so many things left unsaid. A bit like these two, really. Like, the way they ended things much too abruptly. It's a lot more difficult and painful on Naomi's part, though, because _she _doesn't forget, though she knows Emily will. Which reminds me, _What am I supposed to do, when the best part of me was always you? What am I supposed to say, when I'm all choked up, and you're okay? _

A bit of The Script, anyone?

**Can't Go Back Now – The Weepies**

Okay, I can't take snippets from this one. The lyrics are all too beautiful to single anything out in particular. It's Naomi speech, you guys. The one she was always giving Emily, right from the beginning, but the one she never got to give in the end, when Emily needed to hear it the most. It's a promise, a pledge, a lesson, a warning, all at once—a parting gift. It's too beautiful, and much too perfect to leave out. This is the theme towards the end, most likely when Naomi's reminiscing all their memories together on the way home from London, with Emily on her back. The image of that, in my head, coupled with this song? Priceless.

**Waiting Outside the Lines – Shaun Canon; Cover**

Nobody in the world believes in Emily Fitch the way Naomi Campbell does—the same can be said for their canon counterparts in the Skins series. And, as much as I would like to go on believing that SkinsFire never happened, I'd like to believe that this was the reason Naomi let Emily take the internship in New York to begin with. Because she believed in her completely; in remaining faithful to her, in her abilities, in everything, really. That kind of love, right there? It's what everyone wants, what some people would kill to have, at least once in their lives. They had it. They had it all.

_You'll never enjoy your life  
Livin' inside the box  
You're so afraid of taking chances  
How are you going to reach the top?_

The trouble with our little Emsy here, though, is that she never thinks she's good enough for anything. Which is exactly why Naomi spent the last six years telling her otherwise. I can't find it in me to take any other lines from the song, because the rest of the lyrics are just as brilliant and relate so well to them and their situation.

* * *

**One of my reviewers, Hugo, pointed my rather miserable track-record out to me, and I must say I really am ashamed. :( I'm really, really sorry I've been gone for so long. ****Rest assured, I'm just as invested in this story as you all are—I **_**will **_**deliver. This I promise **_**you. **_**x**


	3. Chapter Two

**Thank you, as always, for your enthusiasm! I literally can't keep the smile off my face; you're all so wonderful, really.**

**Heaps and heaps and heaps of thanks to NoEyesMycah for all the help and support she lent to this fic; without her, this chapter would've ended in a pathetic hysterical bout of verbal abuse between two people who have absolutely reason to fight. Thank you, girl, for throwing out the best ideas **_**ever. **_

**Y'all should go over on Twitter and bombard her with flattery for her brilliant mind, then throw out reasons why she should actually **_**watch **_**Skins. After all the help she's given to a fandom she doesn't even **_**know**_**, I think she ought to start watching it because, Christ. Do you need any other reason to?**

**Also, why yes, this chapter **_**does **_**contain a glimpse of a certain Emily Fitch, seventeen years later. I—er—also had to crank up the rating to an M, for obvious reasons. Cussing and misplaced sexytimes ensue.**

**Cheers!**

**xx**

* * *

**mine. now.**

* * *

She flicked her pen against the edge of the table impatiently, her eyes narrowing in growing displeasure. 'And, that's the best you've all come up with, then?'

The silence that followed afterward was laced with ill-disguised, irascible tension on one end, and crippling, anxious terror on the other. The temperature dropped a good negative forty degrees, at least, what with the tone of her voice and their lack of a response to appease her rapidly growing temper. They swallowed thickly and broke out into a collective cold sweat, fidgeting restlessly in their seats, and internally willing—in vain—for the vinyl-backed carpet to take mercy and have pity on their less-than-pathetic-souls by swallowing them whole.

'Three weeks. I gave you three whole _fucking _ weeks, and _this _is the best you come up with? This is the best you can give me? Are you all deliberately trying to piss me off? Are you all on some half-arsed conspiracy to get on my goddamn nerves every blasted chance you all get?' She stood up roughly and pushed her chair back; they winced as it swiveled away from her and crashed against the glass wall across the room. 'What d'you think you're playing at?' she snarled, her voice dropping to a whisper. 'What, you think this is some fucking repeat of your frustrated college experience as editors and contributors for the paper? Or, I don't know, your days as a sodding intern, running around the _Chronicle's _lobby, handing out mug after mug of lukewarm coffee to your superiors while typing out a write-up to meet the afternoon deadline? Grow. The. Fuck. Up.'

She whipped a stack of folders off the table and gestured wildly, 'This is the real world. This is _my _fucking office. You follow _my _standards, _my _rules, _my _orders. Therefore, you meet _my _demands, am I understood? If you can't cope, then I suggest you pack up real sharpish, or I'll kick you off the team myself. I need assets here, not liabilities. This is pathetic. These figures are pathetic. And, frankly, you're all pathetic.' She slammed a folder down on the table in between pauses to emphasize her point. 'This was your second chance. You fucked up, and fucked up bad. I'm sorry, but I don't honestly see how any of you can fit in the pilot team.'

'Please!' A girl at the far end of the table squeaked. Her colleagues turned to glare at her with wide, frightened eyes, shaking their heads almost imperceptibly—a silent warning to stand down, or be sent sprawling in the most demeaning way possible. She continued, though, undeterred. 'Please,' her voice wavered. She cleared her throat awkwardly, 'I—that is to say, _we—_took up the full brunt of the research material, from surveys to data-charts and interviews. And, while the last three issues showed a steady decrease in customer patronage, no one here can deny that we've received an influx of subscriptions since last month's press conference and launching. At the rate we're going, we'll probably raise the figures enough to meet the quota imposed by the corporation, at least, enough to keep us on track and up to speed for another perennial cycle. In all honesty, miss Fitch, I have difficulty seeing which areas of concern you're particularly distressed at, because it looks to me like we're good to go. I can't help but think, quite frankly, that this is a gross overreaction on your part. No offense meant, of course,' she amended hastily, blushing a fiery red to the roots of her hair.

She regarded her coldly, her lips set. Her eyes glittered with suppressed malice. 'Of course,' she echoed, tilting her head to glance over her cursorily. 'I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name the first time. Freya, was it?'

'Er, Catherine, actually,' she looked uncomfortable at being addressed so directly, and settled for keeping her gaze trained on the unopened bottle of water by her hand.

'Right, of course,' she whispered. 'Well, Catherine. I'm rather glad, actually, that you brought all these _facts _to my attention. It's gratifying to know that someone along the lines cares enough to bring me figures and press-packs to back up their research substantially. That's resourcefulness, people—take a memo,' she walked around the table with deliberate slowness, stopping to trail a finger across Catherine's shoulders, smirking when she shivered at her touch. Catherine looked relieved, however, that she wasn't being bundled out of the meeting room after her rather passionate outburst and received a modicum of rarely doled out praise instead.

'And, since you seem to know your way around here quite better than anyone, why don't you take a well-deserved promotion, Catherine? After all, you took the full brunt of the research. In fact, why don't you take my job instead? Then, I can sit back and stretch my feet out beneath the desk and pretend to look up Birmingrad and Stoll stocks on the foreign exchange market so I can impress you whenever you pass by my desk? That sounds pretty fair to me, don't you think?' she leaned down and pressed her palms against the table, smirking when Catherine's face paled, completely drained of color. 'And, then I'd bypass my latest assignment on financial assessments of Flagstaff's corporate sale stocks and sell-outs in the past season to take the time to research the publication's lack of subscriptions and customer market to make you look like a complete cop-out during the next editorial meeting, effectively humiliating you in front of our colleagues, who by the way, think you're the biggest bitch to grace the earth since Hitler decided to dust the Jews off the face of the goddamn globe,' she smiled warmly, but the ice in her gaze belied her malevolence.

'Thing is, though, Catherine, I got these reports and figures about a month ago, so you're sorely overdue. I'm sorry. I really am. I appreciate the sentiment, though. I'm sure you meant well. See, now, the fact remains that your team's output is a page or two short of a typical American high school tabloid written by a freshman-year, comfortably gay teenager, with a potentially fatal case of HIV, or most likely, rectal cancer—not exactly up to my standards. Or the company's, for that matter. Also, I think you'll find that the subscriptions and subsidized issues' circulation _isn't _enough, actually, if you'd done your math half as well as you say you did. We're a bit short on that area. Pathetic, I know. We'll find a way to amend things, however. And, we'll carry on stronger than before, am I right, people? Now, Catherine,' she looked almost sympathetic, her eyes sad, her lips quirked up into a passable parody of a miserable frown. 'I'd love to give you my job, I really would. The good Lord knows I could do with a year-long vacation in the Caribbean, or Asia, really. Unfortunately, there aren't any openings! But, there is one other, though—only, it isn't for you. Although, whoever will take your place will certainly have you to thank for suddenly letting in a window of opportunity! The only opening for you as of now, I'm afraid, is the front door—though you're most certainly welcome to use the fire exit, if you so chose. It was a pleasure working with you, Catherine. Have a fantastic day, yeah? Reeve, see her out, please,' she waved farewell eagerly, her face nearly kind; the perfect image of sincerity, but everyone knew better.

Reeve escorted a shell-shocked Catherine out the glass double doors of the meeting room and led her back to her cubicle, where she began piling her belongings into a box beneath her desk, nearly robotic in her actions. Her eyes were glazed over, unblinking, as if she had difficulty processing the way things had dealt themselves out in the last twenty minutes. The rest of the editorial staff kept their gazes trained on the table before them, hardly daring to look up at her.

'Right,' she said cheerfully. 'That wraps things up for this morning, I suppose. We'll resume at three.'

'Miss Fitch?' a voice called out hesitantly from the door—her bottle-blond secretary, Margaret. She swept her fair hair back and readjusted her headset agitatedly, 'I told her not to disturb you during meetings, but she said it was an emergency. Your sister is on line six. But,' she swallowed thickly, seeing abject horror and indignation slowly dawn on her editor's face. 'She's actually downstairs, at the main lobby. She's with your father.'

**xx**

'Katie,' she said tightly, keeping her emotions in check. 'What a pleasant surprise. And here I was thinking you'd be halfway across the globe by now, on the way to a business meeting in—where was it again? Manila?'

'Surprise, surprise,' Katie remarked dryly, leaning in to kiss her cheek perfunctorily. 'You don't look particularly happy to see me, Emsy. You don't look particularly well, for that matter. Something happened, I take it? Something up at work?' she looked up and caught one of Emily's staff by the eye. He froze, like a deer in headlights, and fidgeted as if wondering if it was too late to run screaming in the opposite direction. 'You, there,' Katie drawled lazily. 'You substituted for my P.A. when she came down with the measles a week ago. Ronald, wasn't it?' He nodded meekly in response, and she took it as encouragement. 'What happened today, exactly? What crawled up my sister's miserable arse and died?'

Emily glared at him, silently willing him with her eyes to leave off wordlessly. He was staring at Katie fixedly, however, and seemed to be struggling for words. 'There was—She was being rude, and Miss Fitch had to—It wasn't anything—I—'

'Fuck's sake,' Emily grumbled. 'I fired Catherine What's-Her-Face, alright? She was being a stroppy cunt and she was a liability to my team. I could easily hire ten more of her, if that's what you're worried about.'

'Jesus, Emily. _Everyone _who stands up to you is a fucking liability, whether or not they actually make sense is out of the question,' Katie brushed past her and strode towards the lobby, nodding to several clients and investors in the vicinity. Emily kept closely behind her, looking irate and generally disagreeable.

'So, how _is _it, then? Being the editor-in-chief for _Trade Finance _and _Avant-Garde? _Everything you thought it would be?' Katie tossed her hair back and glanced at her.

'You tell me. I've had to lay-off fifteen knobs in the past three months alone. One of them thought it would be a fan-_fucking_-tastic joke, you know, sending me a box of live scorpions for my birthday last August,' Emily ran a hand through her hair and glared at a passing intern. 'Can you get me a coffee, please? Sorry, two, for my sister as well. Grande, caramel frappe, no whip, non-fat, decaf? And, a venti soy-chai latte, two shots of espresso,' she barked. The intern nodded hastily, typing into a BlackBerry with fumbling fingers before scurrying in the opposite direction.

'Nice to see you still remember my coffee order after all these years,' Katie raised a brow, surprised. 'You're so strung up, though. More than usual, I mean. Wasn't Catherine What's-Her-Face part of the rotating interns you were supposed to be assessing from _Cosmo _and _Heat, _though_? _Can you fire her?'

'Fuck if I know. She can sod off my office, right? I can do that much,' Emily tossed her hair back flippantly and scrolled through her BlackBerry. 'I've got a lunch meeting in thirty. Care to tell me why you're here, exactly?'

'Can't I see my sister? Ha. Shit, I can't even say that with a straight face on anymore. Look, Ems,' she said seriously. 'Dad's here, yeah? The Board isn't exactly happy about the lack of satisfactory customer responses and subscriptions for the past two cycles. They're thinking about, well. About cutting you off.'

_'What?'_ Emily yelped, stopping in her tracks. 'What the actual fuck? Just because I wasn't able to maintain ranking for a year?'

'It's not just that. _Financial Times _and _Money Management _topped you off, three weeks into the latest season: _Trade Finance _is somewhere at the bottom of the Big Five, Ems. Didn't you see the report figures my secretary sent last week? _Avant-Garde, _on the other hand, is struggling behind _Seventeen. _Fucking _Seventeen, _Emily,' Katie said, exasperated. 'We're lucky _Cosmo _and _Heat _decided to pull through with the internships at all! If anything, we should be sending staff out to them.'

'Are you saying I can't do it? That I can't handle this?' Emily said quietly. Katie opened her mouth to interject, but Emily cut her off heatedly. 'Last season, _Avant-Garde _was on the top of the goddamn list—for two consecutive cycles! _Seventeen's _figures are misleading, their market is for prepubescent teens. Our targeted market is directed at—'

'We know, Emily. You think the Board didn't do their research? They're concerned, is all. You might not be able to pull the figures up in time. We're sponsoring Top Model's next season; _we _need sponsors to back us up, too,' Katie lowered her sunglasses and peered at her carefully. 'Have you put on weight?'

Emily rolled her eyes, 'No, I fucking have _not. _I lost five pounds since you last visited, and that was over two months ago! Look, I got in touch with the producers, alright? They'll grant a leeway, just give me time, I can pull up sales. Trust me on this.'

'Could've gained them back in a day, Em. Seriously, your waist's like, what, now? Twenty-four? Pushing twenty-five?' Katie bit her lip and shook her head, perching her glasses smoothly atop her head.

'Did you _not _just hear I word I said?' Emily cried, stepping past her and effectively blocking her way. 'I can do this! This is all I've got, you can't just throw it all away—throw _me _away! How can you and dad even—?'

'I heard, Em. I heard, alright? I just don't know what to tell you, and don't expect me to take sides at this point, because I fucking can't, alright? We're in a right fix,' Katie pinched the bridge of her nose delicately and screwed her eyes shut. 'Dad lost the gym.'

**xx**

'How?' Emily whispered, burying her head in her hands. 'It was our starter, it's been there ever since we were kids. I thought it was going well! You must have at least thirty branches in London alone!'

'Oh, Emsy,' Robert Fitch looked extremely uncomfortable at the sight of his daughter's distress. He adjusted his tie and smoothed down his lapel with trembling hands. 'Don't be like that, now. It had to be done. We couldn't let ourselves be forced off the market, now, could we? We've known for awhile that we'd be bound to face serious repercussions, refusing to keep pace with the trends these days. This is a small price to pay, honestly. And, it's in good hands—_Equinox_ is a world-class chain of gyms in America, and they made an offer I couldn't refuse.'

'Fitch Fitness was your _life,_' her lip trembled. 'It was a part of _us_. It was our childhood, it was our family, it was everything. It put us where we are now. You couldn't even fight to keep it?'

'See here, Emily,' he said sternly, his brows furrowing together. 'If this is about your situation with the ratings, you can't throw this back at me as a low blow; I can't do anything about—'

'I don't give a flying fuck about the Board! I couldn't care less about _Trade Finance_ and _Avant-Garde! _This is about our goddamn family, our goddamn business, and the fact that you've devolved into a fucking power-hungry miser by throwing it all away—never mind _me_, goddamn it!' she leapt up from the leather sofa and nearly upended the coffee table in her outburst. 'How dare you?' she whispered, appalled. 'I don't know you anymore—'

She flew backward and tripped gracelessly over her feet as the back of his hand connected with her face, hard. 'Emily!' Katie cried, rushing forward. 'Fucking _stop, _dad, she's got her own shit to deal with—'

'How dare _I?'_ Robert growled, his face a deep scarlet. His features contorted frighteningly as he took great shuddering breaths to calm himself down. 'How dare I? Who put food on the table all these years? Who put the clothes on your back? Who kept a roof over your head? Who kept you out of the streets? Who placed you in school? Who gave you a career? Who promised you a future? Who made you what you are?'

'A man I used to call my father,' Emily said quietly, wiping the rapidly congealing blood dripping from her nose. 'What good did it bring any of us, Robert? You lost mum, you lost James, and you lost me. But, then, none of that matters to you anymore, does it? Nothing matters but your precious corporate empire.' She spread her arms and laughed harshly. 'Well, you fucking got it. Congratulations.' She stood up shakily and brushed her trousers down. 'If you'll excuse me, I've got a lunch meeting in fifteen. I'll deal with the Board in my own time.'

Katie glanced at her concernedly but stepped back to let her pass. Emily brushed past him on her way out and he grabbed her wrist angrily. 'I gave you a life,' he snarled.

'No, you lent me one,' she met his gaze steadily. 'There's a difference.' She pulled her hand back abruptly and whipped out of the room, ignoring the horrified, curious glances of her colleagues at the sight of her bloodied face.

**xx**

'I can use the back-exit if you'd like, Miss Fitch. They're crawling all over the place, it's almost as if someone's tipped them off,' her chauffeur fiddled with his gloves in agitation. He readjusted the rear-view mirror to get a good look at her, 'Red light won't hold for long now. Miss?'

Emily slipped her sunglasses on and reapplied a thin layer of gloss on her lip, using the tinted power-window to her left as a mirror. 'Oh, leave them be, George. They're harmless,' she shrugged. 'If they can't pry anything, they can't use anything. Besides, I'm expected up front.'

'Of course, miss,' he veered towards the imposing wrought-iron gates, pausing only to swipe his finger along the biometric scanner by the gatehouse. They swung open upon recognition and they trundled up the hill in relative silence. All too soon, they were met with a thick crowd of paparazzi hustling quite loudly outside the faded, whitewashed theater. They lathered into a frenzy at the sight of her limousine pulling up the drive, running pell-mell towards her, cameras held aloft.

'Will you step out, Miss?' George asked hesitantly, scratching the fine stubble on his chin. 'I'll contact security, settle a perimeter about you if you want.'

'No,' she waved a hand dismissively. 'There'll be no need for that; he'll be out, soon. We're on pick-up duty, not press publicity. Afterward, we'll head up the Manor for lunch. You can leave by then.'

'Of course, Miss,' he mumbled. He pulled his lapel towards his lips and began muttering instructions into the mouthpiece. Almost immediately, four security personnel pulled the grand double-doors of the mansion open. The paparazzi switched tack and pressed backward, towards the entrance, shutters clicking for all they were worth. They were kept back effectively, even as a figure emerged from the depths of the mansion. The paparazzi cried out at the sight of him, screaming questions, rumors and statements for ratification or repudiation. He kept his head low and strode purposefully over to the limousine where the chauffeur, George, held the backseat-door open for him. He caught sight of Emily settled languorously against the leather-backed seats and grinned. She raised a brow expectantly and smiled back, beckoning him forward with a crook of her finger.

'Hi,' she whispered, a smile playing on her lips. He braced a hand against the top of the car and bent forward as she met him halfway; about fifty or so cameras took shots of their rather decent display of affection from varying angles. He sighed contentedly against her lips and pulled himself inside the warm confines of the car, the door swinging shut behind him. They pulled away and started back down the drive, leaving the crowds ruffled and miffed behind them.

'Oh,' he stretched stiffly, his arm sliding around Emily's shoulders to pull her closer. 'Hello,' he murmured, taking her in. 'You look lovely today. As always, really. But, more so today. Glowing, more like.'

'You're kidding, right?' she groaned. 'I've had so much shit to deal with today, I just needed to run away from it all. I missed you. I missed you so much.'

'I missed you, too,' he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers comfortingly. 'Tell me all about it.'

'Later,' she promised. She pressed her cheek against his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. 'Let's stay like this for a while. This is nice.'

'Mm,' he hummed in agreement. He caught George's eye in the rear-view mirror and winked. 'Afternoon, George. How're you doing?'

'Just fine, Mister Cook, sir. Thanks for asking. A fine afternoon to you as well,' he touched his fingers to his cap and nodded once.

'James will do us both fine, George, mate. Just James,' he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

**xx**

George dropped them off at Point View, up at the Manor, and drove off as per Emily's previous instructions, the wild bass beats of Queen thrumming loudly from his stereo speakers. 'Curious taste in music, that boy,' Cook muttered, glancing at the Mercedez's tinted power-windows as it peeled back onto the main road. 'Does he play it that loud when you're on it?'

'God, no. He's silent as a pigeon when I'm with him. Pity, he leaves me to my own devices; it gets rather lonely in the backseat, you know? I have to find ways to amuse myself,' she stifled a yawn and steered them into the lobby.

'You have any idea how filthy that sounded?' he whispered against her ear. She reached down surreptitiously and brushed the back of her hand against the zipper of his trousers.

'I think I have a pretty good idea,' she quirked a brow, smirking. 'Keep it in your pants, darling. Plenty of time for that later. Right now, I'm _starving.'_

The managing supervisor caught her eye and quickly muttered instructions to the receptionist by the podium; the latter paled and glanced at them before tripping over on her own heels in her haste to settle affairs in the dining area. Cook caught the supervisor's gaze and grinned. 'Oliver, mate!' he called cheerily. 'How're you doing? Thought we'd pop in for a bit, I've been missing your meals all week. Have you got a table for us at this time?'

'Always, James. For you, and for Miss Fitch,' he smiled tightly, his perpetually watery-green eyes darting about self-consciously. 'H-How are y-you, Miss Emily? How is your f-father?' he stammered. He dabbed at the beads of perspiration along his brow and nodded towards her.

She stiffened, but allowed herself a rather pained grimace. 'I feel brilliant, Oliver, thanks. So does Robert, I'm sure. Relax, he won't be coming over anytime soon—and I promise you he won't send any more hitmen. It was _one _time, and I swear it was my bloody sister's fault, not mine.'

'My apologies, Miss Fitch,' he said nervously. 'I knew you wouldn't do anything like that, of course. Please believe me, however, when I say I had absolutely no idea that the man your sister was with was Donald Hamish's son. If I had known there was a feud between fathers, I might've been able to prevent your father's, ah, regrettable outburst.'

'But, then you would've dealt with Katie,' Emily shook her head. 'Her temper's just as bad as his. It was his fault, though: he should know better than to meddle with our affairs, especially our personal lives, and the people we choose to be with.' She glanced at Cook pointedly.

He frowned, 'What am I missing here, exactly?'

'Two months ago, Katie went out with Hamish's son, Jonah. You remember Jonah? From the press-con last March in Seattle?'

'Oh,' his eyes lit up brightly in recognition. 'Fiberglass-prosthetic-leg-Jonah! That bastard was a downright laugh,' he chuckled. 'What about him?'

'They had dinner here 'round about the same time dad's new investors were as well. They caught the two together and told my father. You know how it is—they had issues with Donald Hamish, something about a dispute over a new contract in Fulham. Anyway, dad sends his thugs over to shake Jonah up—you know, to send a message to Hamish—only, Katie had to make things worse by involving the entire restaurant to fight them off. They trashed around twenty thousand quids' worth of property that evening. Which is why you'll have to excuse Oliver's apprehension about letting me in his restaurant again,' she finished sheepishly.

'Please, Miss Fitch,' Oliver ducked his head in an awkward half-bow. 'Let us leave the past to trouble itself another day; today, you dine with me. If you would please, James?' he swept them into the dining area and straight through the pavilion, past the portico and onto a secluded niche beside panel after panel of floor-to-ceiling French windows. The latch was left slightly ajar and a gentle breeze wafted across the room, cooling Emily's flushed cheeks.

'This is lovely,' she murmured, glancing out the window at the garden-view that sprawled before them. 'You have such lovely gardenias, and hibiscuses. Oh, and geraniums,' her eyes lit up as she leaned out the sill. 'Your lilies are in season as well, how delightful.' She touched a finger to the glass and gazed admiringly out at the shrubs arranged beautifully by the terrace. 'My garden isn't nearly as gorgeous as this is, is it James?'

He scoffed, 'You might have a better chance of growing a plant box in sunny Surrey than here in the city, Em. Anyway, thank you, Oliver,' he turned back to him and smiled gratefully. 'We'll be fine here.'

'Of course,' he pulled back the chair and indicated for Emily to sit. 'I'll send someone to fetch your orders the moment you've made up your minds. Let me take your coats, in the meanwhile.' He disappeared through the double-doors of the room and they were left with a silence as substantial as it was oppressive.

'So,' Cook ventured hesitantly, his voice hardening with resolve. 'What happened to your lip?' She let her breath out in a slow hiss and closed her eyes briefly.

'Bit of a disagreement with dad,' she muttered, picking at the edge of the tablecloth with her fingers. 'I lost my temper, so he lost his. Bit shit, really. But, it's fine,' she waved him off dismissively. 'Really.'

'He _hit_ you?' he roared. His chair flew backward as he stood abruptly, his eyes wild with indignant rage, 'Again? What the fuck, Emily? He's a mad man, he's a bastard! He's an arse-licking cunt-face; filthiest son of a goddamn whore I've—'

'He's only human, James,' she pleaded exasperatedly. 'He's manic depressive. It's getting better: he's taking medication regularly.'

'That doesn't excuse his shit-poor parenting skills,' Cook seethed, settling back down on his seat. 'If I had a quid for every time that cunt-wipe—'

'James.'

'—That sorry fuck—'

_'James.'_

'—Your _father,' _he stressed mockingly. 'Engaged in the sacred act of douchebaggery, I'd be richer than the estate-brokers on Wall Street.' He loosened his tie and exhaled sharply, 'Christ. Oh, Christ.'

'It's alright, really. Katie was with me, patched me up and everything afterward,' she smiled reassuringly. He softened at her gaze and reached across the table to take her hand in his gently.

'You're alright, then?' he whispered softly, stroking the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. 'It's just that, you can't ask me to make peace with anyone who hurts you in anyway, Emily. Even if that man is your father. You deserve so much more, and you ought to know that. I love you,' he said helplessly. 'You mean the world to me, and it hurts me to see you hurt. You know that.'

Emily blushed faintly. She raised his hand and leaned her cheek against his palm, 'I love you, too. Thank you.' He smiled back and traced a finger underneath her eye affectionately. 'How're things between Paddy and your mum?' she asked, curious.

'Oh,' he frowned. 'Paddy's about sixteen, as it is, and a foot taller than I am, at least. He's 'round six-feet-and-two-quarters of an inch. Perfect for theater, really. Apparently, mum thinks so as well because she secured him auditions for West End's production of _Les Mis, _and _The Phantom. _Being the Chairman of the National Theater of the Arts has its perks, I suppose._'_

Emily snorted bemusedly, 'Even if she knows he isn't the least bit interested? Bit shallow on both their parts, don't you think?' she sipped from her champagne flute delicately.

'It's precisely why she went through with it to begin with—thinks it might break him in properly,' he sounded almost wistful. 'He's a good kid, my Paddy. He'd give her the world if she asked for it. He's got reason to take a breather, though. Mum's in New York for the next three weeks, securing partnerships with Trump Enterprises, and Waldorf Group of Hotels. Ever since she bought out the Hyatt in last season's bid, she's had to fly in and out of Europe nonstop. She's considering taking Jetstar Airlines as a potential shareholder, that is, if she hasn't gotten 'round to _buying _them already.'

'You have to admire her one-track mind, though,' Emily laughed. 'She's literally taking the world by storm. What about you? What's new?' she laced her fingers under her chin and raised a brow expectantly.

'I won the bid for the Oakley Property auction last June, I can back-up the construction funding for the term now. Build an entire new wing for the general hospital,' he winked at her and she laughed at his crassness.

'That's wonderful! Finally, achieving something you've always wanted to do. I'm so proud of you,' she beamed at him brightly. He grinned and ran a hand through his tousled, sandy hair.

'I'm backing-up Harper & Row Publishing this year, too; along with Disney-Hyperion, and Dutton. That'll give me a decent portion of all their sales every time their shares profit in the market. And, I think you'll be pleased to find that I've perfected my latest line in the realm of software,' he flicked his cigarette case open and gazed at its contents, his expression hard. 'You'll benefit the most from it, I think—it's directed markets are print and publishing companies. For editing, yeah? And with mum docking from my account to fund major investments—'

Cook grew silent, his face a stony mask. She glanced at him concernedly and tilted her head to look at him properly. 'What's wrong, Cookie?' she asked, worried.

'I'm sorry, Em. It's just—it's my trust fund, right?' he said quietly, his jaw tautening. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his palm briskly against his brow, 'She's taking out bond after bond from my share in the family trust: to subsidize her new boyfriend's gambling habit, to invest in shit stocks, to finance her fucking ridiculous shopping trips. I'm not being _selfish, _Emily,' he pleaded. 'But, the trust fund—it's my father's. He set it aside for _me. _But, in the past three weeks alone, I've had to liquidate ten percent of my total assets, from my stock holdings to my bank shares to fund her 'business ventures,'' he rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. 'My trust fund,' his voice turned soft, his eyes sad. 'I placed a quarter of it in the hands of the stock market, to increase profit, you know? So I'd have some set aside, for myself—so I could look your father in the eyes when I ask him for your hand.'

Emily's eyes widened in disbelief and incredulity. She opened her mouth to say something, and closed it just as quickly. His brow furrowed, confused, 'You know,' he prompted, growing increasingly uncomfortable at her silence. 'In marriage?'

'Yeah,' she breathed in a rush. 'Yeah, I know. I just—Wow, that's. Marriage?' she squeaked.

He smiled at her from across the table and took her hand in his tenderly, 'I love you, Emily. I want to be with you now, and if you'll have me, forever. The only hand I want to slip a ring on is the hand that managed to tame the infamous James Cook. I want to marry you, someday. Come home to you at the end of every night.'

'It's a little too early to talk about settling down, don't you think, James? The whole white-washed bungalow, picket-fence, and two point five kids talk's a bit overrated these days,' she laughed nervously, the tips of her ears flushed a deep red. 'I mean, you're only twenty-six, for fuck's sake. You've got your whole life ahead of you; a lot can change in a few months—who's to say that this time next year, you wouldn't be over me already?' she said wryly. He found no offense in her dry rebuttal and kissed the tips of her fingers as if to reassure her.

'I love you,' he said simply, shrugging.

**xx**

They stumbled up the Manor's penthouse suite, where Cook had booked his stay for the next two weeks for the bi-monthly investors meeting at the Plaza down the boulevard. 'Fuck,' Emily whispered in awe as she gawked unashamedly at the sheer size of the room. 'It's even bigger than my sitting room. I could fit an entire branch of Fitch Fitness here.' She padded across the Persian carpet and glanced out the paneled windows overlooking the Thames. 'It's beautiful.'

'It's alright, I suppose,' he sniffed, affecting disdain. She looked at him skeptically and raised a brow. 'It pales in comparison,' he amended, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer against him. 'With you in the room, I wouldn't exactly throw the word _beautiful _around casually; it would take away the value of its meaning, describing something so flippantly like that.'

'Is that a compliment?' she laughed, cradling his face in her hands delicately. 'Are you complimenting me?' He leaned down and kissed her gently. She sighed contentedly against his mouth and kissed him back firmly, her fingers threading through his hair.

'I've got a few compliments in me,' he murmured against her lips, grinning when she wrapped her legs around his waist in response. He gripped the back of her thighs and hoisted her into his arms, steering them back carefully onto the couch in the sitting room. She straddled him as soon as he sat down, making quick work of his belt and the zip of his trousers. She slid them roughly down to his ankles and helped him shrug out of his morning coat.

'Keep it on,' she muttered quickly, pushing him back down when he made to unbutton his dress shirt. She kicked off her heels and hiked her dress up to her waist, leaning back to pull her knickers off. 'I want you so bad,' she nearly groaned, settling back down on him and rocking against his hardness, feeling it strain inside the thin cotton confines of his pants.

'Christ,' he hissed, throwing his head back. 'You're so wet, Ems. Stop,' he gripped her arms tightly, forcing her to stop. 'I can't take this, let me feel you,' he pleaded.

'You don't have a rubber,' she gasped breathlessly as he pushed her down on the cushions, spreading her legs beneath him. 'I'm not on the Pill, I haven't been for months now. I can't—' she watched with wide eyes as he reached down and pulled his pants down and off, tossing them aside unceremoniously. She cried out in pleasure as he dragged his length against her wetness, teasing his tip inside her.

'What d'you want to do, now, then?' Cook asked, glancing down at her playfully. He rocked against her, not quite sliding in as she met his rolling hips with hers. Emily whimpered, nearly delirious in ecstasy as his hardness slipped and slid through her folds easily.

'I want you inside me,' she pleaded, drawing him closer by his tie. Swiftly, she wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped his shoulders, pushing against his tip until he slid inside her to the hilt, easily. She released a long, drawn out groan, feeling him fill her completely, stretching her in all the right places. They stayed motionless for a beat or two, reveling in the sheer gratification of being physically connected. Then, slowly, he began thrusting inside her, gripping the back of the couch and the cushion by her ear for purchase. She clawed at his back frantically, helping him set the pace.

Emily's phone began ringing on the coffee table, clattering noisily against the lacquered wood. 'Ignore it,' he managed quietly, slamming into her with renewed haste. She nodded against his chest, relenting to the gentle push of his hands as he pulled her up to sit. She slouched down on the seat, her legs dangling on either side of his waist as he towered over her; she cried out in pleasure as he slid roughly back inside her, the angle he'd created inside her allowing him better access to all the places she needed him to be.

Her phone rang incessantly, showing no sign of letting up—as miffed as she was quickly growing, their persistence, whoever it was, impressed her. 'Turn it off,' Cook groaned as she reached down to stroke the bulk of him, guiding it nearly inside her.

'Leave it be,' she shook her head, spreading her palms across his chest. 'They'll go away.' She gripped his hips tightly and began to thrust against him. She was close, she could feel it building inside her, pulsing deeply inside her—she needed release, after the cards the week had dealt her. 'I'm so close,' she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck to kiss his ear. 'Don't stop.'

He stood up abruptly and Emily squeaked in surprise, he pulled her forward until her back settled nearly uncomfortably on the seat-cushions. 'Yes,' she cried as he bore down on her, spreading her legs as far as she could comfortably manage. He slid in and out of her gently, rolling his hips slowly, deep inside her. She screwed her eyes tightly in anticipation—she would come, and come hard, and he would—

'Fuck's sake!' she nearly screamed, her release coinciding with the renewed ringing of her mobile. She came with its incessant, vulgar tones pulsing in her ears. Thoroughly incensed and angered, she pushed Cook off her and strode over to the coffee table, briefly contemplating the practicality of smashing the offending object on the opposite wall. Her temper flared, seeing the unwelcome contact name flickering on the screen.

'What the fuck do you want now?' she demanded by way of a greeting, her voice shrill in her rage. Cook watched confusedly as Emily's expression melted from indignant fury to soft resignation in all of eight seconds. 'Fuck's sake,' she whispered, running a hand through her hair. 'She's not going to appreciate it, you know. Yeah. 'Course I do, I always have done, yeah? No, I will. Leave it to me, then. I'll call you when she's with me.' Emily clicked the phone off and pulled her clothes on carefully, brushing them down efficiently and checking her make-up cursorily in Cook's hallway mirror. He watched her putt about wordlessly, pulling his trousers on with regret.

'Where are you going, all in a hurry? Cookie hasn't had his, yet,' he said wistfully, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he followed her out the door.

She pecked him on the cheek gently and pulled back, 'I have to get home, Katie can't pick her up.'

'Oh,' his eyes softened and he allowed himself a small smile. 'So, you're going over there, then? To pick her up?' He scratched his chin thoughtfully, 'I could come with; she likes me, too, right? Treat you ladies for ice cream on the Hilton afterward?'

'That's sweet,' she patted his cheek fondly. 'But, not today, I think. I'll call you when I've got her, so you can say hi.'

'I'd like that,' he smiled.

**xx**

Emily leaned over the center console and stuck her head out the window on the passenger's side, waving eagerly. A tiny, pink-faced figure squinted distrustfully at her before waddling over to her, as fast as her tiny legs would carry her.

'Emily!' she cried happily, throwing open the door and launching herself into Emily's waiting arms. Emily laughed, elated, burying her face in her niece's soft brown tresses.

'Hi, Jamie,' she greeted cheerfully, pulling back to look her over. 'Miss me?' Jamie shuffled back and settled back on the passenger seat, buckling the seat belt perfunctorily.

'Always,' Jamie mumbled around a mouthful of her scarf. Emily frowned and reached over to tug at her neon-green overcoat, which was three sizes too big on her.

'How many have you got on, sweetie? D'you want to take a couple off? It isn't forty below freezing in here, if its any consolation,' Emily unbuckled her swiftly and helped her out of her coat and two underlying layers of jumpers before she was satisfied.

'Mummy says I have to bundle up, or I'll freeze my tits off,' she said slowly, folding her coat over her jumpers haphazardly before throwing them in the backseat. Emily's eyes widened, horrified.

'Mum says _tits, _around you?' she choked. 'Just like that? Jesus, Jay. That isn't a very nice word to say out loud, and it isn't something I want to hear from a little lady like you. Tell your mum Auntie Em doesn't approve of her casual vocabulary,' she muttered, glancing back as she revved the car in reverse. They peeled out of St. Thomas' icy car park and sailed smoothly through the highway moments later.

'What does tits mean, Emsy?' Jamie looked up at her dolefully, slightly remorseful after being reproached earlier. She clapped her hands over her mouth at the slip-up and colored up. 'I mean, that _word.'_

'Oh,' Emily started uncomfortably, tapping her fingers agitatedly on the steering wheel. 'It's a rude word, for your, uh. Chest. Your, um,' she glanced down at Jamie's watery gray eyes, hanging onto her every word, and sighed resignedly. 'Breasts. Everyone has breasts,' she said quickly, internally beating herself up for the crassness of her poor attempt at watered-down sex education for six-year-olds. 'I have breasts, your mum has breasts, and I'm pretty sure your English teacher has breasts, too? Grown women have breasts, and someday, you'll have breasts, too. And, its okay, you know, if they're not as large as other women's are—there isn't any need to feel inferior, or anything. I mean, look at my breasts; they aren't _big, _but they're fine. I mean, I think they're fine. They're fine, right? They aren't _offensive _in their hugeness, so they're appropriate. And, having appropriately sized breasts is an asset, Jamie, it really is. Only porn glorifies size as an _asset, _and it's all a big misogynistic lie,' Jamie's eyes widened like saucers and she caught herself out, resisting the urge to clap a hand over her mouth and bang her forehead against the dashboard. Repeatedly.

'—Er, that is to say—did I say _po—? _I meant corn, because corn isn't the least bit, ah. Patriarchal, 'cause women can grow it, too. As opposed to like, men-farmers growing things like, um. Barley. Which is distinctly patriarchal, 'cause in the Bible, there's this bit where this guy named Boaz, and this girl named Ruth were in the field, and—anyway, big breasts look weird, and I'm not just saying that 'cause my breasts aren't big. I feel pretty confident about my breasts, I can wear anything with them and not feel, you know, awkward. Think about how awkward it would be if your breasts were hanging out of your top every time you decided to undo a button, sun-bathing by the pool in the summer heat? But, then, why would you be wearing a button-down top by the pool? You should've worn a _bikini, _Christ,' she laughed shrilly, slightly breathless after her impromptu monologue. She bit her lip, sweat breaking out across her forehead—Katie was never going to forgive her if she found out. Ever.

Jamie glanced down at her own chest thoughtfully and bit her thumb, 'Will I get breasteses, too?' Emily ground her teeth and swallowed back a moan.

'Yes, Jamie,' she breathed, gripping the steering wheel a little harder than necessary. 'Girls have breasts. You'll have breasts, too. Not any time soon, but,' she swallowed. 'You'll have them, too.' Jamie lightened up marginally and sat back a little straighter in her seat, humming an indistinct tune softly to herself. 'How was school?' she asked, eager to steer the subject back into safer territory. 'What'd you do today?'

'Talked 'bout firemen, today. And, doctors,' Jamie took to biting her thumb again, worrying the skin between her teeth gently. 'Learned 'bout the continents, and Africa's green. And, the oceans. Learned a song 'bout the oceans,' she lisped over her words, and Emily felt a sudden wave of fondness well up inside her.

'Can I hear it?' she asked, smiling. Jamie shook her head a bit too violently and crossed her arms, huffing.

'Later,' she muttered sullenly. 'When mum's with us, later.' She peered out the window, ignoring Emily's little hum of concern. 'Mum said she'd pick me up,' she said quietly.

Emily tensed, 'I know, Jay. But, mummy had somewhere to go to. She wanted me to tell you she's sorry, and that she would've, if she could, but she couldn't miss this meeting, sweetie. You know she's sorry, don't you?' Jamie sat silently, huffing little clouds of mist against the glass and drawing patterns in the condensation with the tip of her finger. 'Besides,' she cleared her throat hopefully. 'Aren't you happy to see me? I missed you, you know? I missed you lots and lots and lots.'

Jamie turned back to look at her, reaching over to stroke the back of Emily's hand across the handbrake with the back of her own gently. 'I missed you, too, Emsy. I missed you lots and lots and lots,' she whispered, a little sadly. They coasted to a stop at the red light and Emily leaned down to brush the tip of her nose against Jamie's.

'I know this place down the street that makes _killer _malts, with _huge _scoops of ice cream and fudge. And, treacle so thick your teeth stick together. And, clotted cream,' she ducked her head swiftly and lifted her niece's starched white uniform to blow a raspberry against her stomach, grinning when Jamie laughed delightedly at the sensation, literally tickled pink. 'What d'you say?' she queried playfully.

'I want a knickerbocker glory,' Jamie giggled, batting Emily's face away as she fluttered butterfly kisses against her cheeks. Emily's smile wavered briefly before slipping back, wider than ever.

'You could ask for the moon and I'd give it to you,' she swept a hand grandiloquently, threading their fingers together across the center console, Jamie practically bouncing in her seat as they sped down the hill.

**xx**

'It's Cookie on the line,' Emily waved her phone in front of Jamie, winking. 'He wants to speak to you.' Jamie flushed a bright, brick red and reached over to take it. Emily tucked her straw between her teeth and watched amusedly as her niece blushed darker with each passing second, nodding every now and then and giggling nervously as Cook's tinny raucous peals of laughter rang from the speakers.

'Cookie,' she announced halfheartedly, clearly reluctant to end the conversation as she handed the phone back. Emily grinned and nodded at Jamie, glancing down at the table. Jamie laughed delightedly and scrambled off her seat eagerly, scooping up the tokens and giving Emily a quick kiss on the cheek before running off.

'She's madly in love with you, you know,' she said, matter-of-factly. She popped a malt in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, 'I can't compete with _that—_four glorious feet of adorable.'

'Mm,' Cook mused playfully. 'She's a keeper, she is. It's flattering; at least _one _Fitch likes me. Where'd she run off to?'

'I bought her some tokens; it's highly likely she's sold her soul to the claw machine by now, so I ought to check up on her in a bit. See how much of her humanity I can salvage,' she chuckled, swirling the froth absentmindedly with a straw.

'You took her downtown, then? To the diner you used to go to all the time with the Fitches? The arcade?'

'Yeah,' Emily shrugged, scratching her nose a bit awkwardly. 'It's _our _haunt, now, anyhow. Giving her a bit of my childhood to go on with. I used to go here all the time with Katie and James, and—' she trailed off and coughed. 'Anyway, it doesn't look like she's having much luck,' she frowned, leaning forward to squint at her distraught niece. 'I might have to take it out, you know. Whatever it is she wants from that thing. Ask someone to open the case up when she isn't looking, give her what she wants.'

'You know I love her, too. But, don't you think, you know, that sometimes—maybe you overdo it a bit? You spoil her senseless,' he reproached gently. She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

'I _adore _her; I have every right to,' she stood up quickly and loosened her scarf about her throat. 'I'll call you when we get back. I'm taking her home in thirty.'

'I love you,' he offered cheerfully, hanging up on her without another word. She strode over to her niece by the claw machine and batted her away gently.

'Let a professional have a go,' she said, mock-haughtily. Jamie laughed and moved away, settling herself beside the miniature carousel and pointing to the glass case eagerly.

'Can I have that one? The pink one? With the purple stripes?' she pointed to a faded, off-pink turtle lying on its back atop a green overstuffed elephant. Emily glanced back at her, confused.

'Wouldn't you rather have the giraffe instead? Or, the, uh. I don't know—the hippo? The hippo's looking pretty lonely,' she mused, turning back to the machine and gesturing to a massive blob of neon orange pushed back against the glass. Jamie shook her head adamantly and bit her thumb.

'The hippo's too pretty. So are the giraffe, and the elephant, and the lion, and the penguin. They're too pretty,' she shrugged, as if that explained everything perfectly.

Emily sagged against the machine and frowned in bewilderment, 'What's their prettiness got to do with anything? I like pretty things.' She rapped the glass smartly with her knuckles, 'Besides, hippos make great best friends. You can bring them anywhere and have everyone coo at you.'

Jamie's brows creased together, 'But, it's too pretty. Everyone wants the pretty ones; so everyone wants the hippo, and the giraffe, and the penguin, and the lion, and the elephant, so they'll be okay after we leave. But, no one wants the turtle 'cause it isn't pretty enough; it's going to stay in that glass case until the man behind the counter changes the toys inside the machine. Then, it gets thrown away.' She walked over to the glass case and pressed her face against it, hands cupped around her eyes to peer closer at the toys on display. She tapped the glass next to the turtle and hummed softly to herself. 'It feels sad,' she said eventually. ''Cause no one wants it, 'cause it isn't big or pink enough. But, I want it. And, I don't want it to get thrown away, or feel alone in that thing when all its friends get taken away. So, I want to save the turtle.'

Emily lapsed into quiet thought and tensed her jaw, 'Even if it's all faded and scrawny? Even if it looks like it'll wear out quickly? You sure?' Jamie stuck her thumb back in her mouth and nodded mutely. Emily sighed and turned back to the machine, 'You could ask for the moon and I'd give it to you.'

**xx**

'Thanks for taking her out, she's been talking nonstop about it since she walked through the door. What'd you get her? A turtle?' Katie snorted, clearing the dishes. She pulled down two champagne flutes from the cupboard and set them down on the counter. 'You know she'll get tired of it after a week, right? That's why I never buy her toys.'

'It doesn't matter, at least she's in love with it now. Hell of a lot better than giving a little girl leopard-print underwear for Christmas, don't you think?' Emily smirked, toweling off the cutlery on a flannel by the oven.

'Those were from fucking Harrods,' Katie snarled. She topped a flute off with Merlot and thrust it at her affectedly, 'And they were like, ninety quid a pair!'

Emily choked on the alcohol, her eyes watering involuntarily as it seared its way back up her throat. _'Ninety quid? _Ninety fucking quid for a pair of _knickers? _Jesus, Katie, what the actual fuck?' she spluttered. She wiped her mouth carefully and glared at her sister, 'You could've gotten what she actually _wanted, _for fuck's sake. I mean, if cost isn't the issue here after all!'

'What, Harry Potter? You're saying I should've gotten her the entire boxed set? A _six_-year-old? Oh, grow up, Ems. She's too young for that sort; she isn't like you,' Katie remarked dryly. 'Don't treat her like your second fucking reincarnation or something. Let her hold her own.'

'She likes to _read, _Katie! If you'd only bother to talk to her for at least five minutes a bloody day, you'd know that, too. And I_ am _letting her hold her own! She's independent, as it is—we just happen to have the same interests—'

'You spoil her! Look at her,' Katie hissed, dragging Emily by the collar of her jumper and pointing to the sitting room. Jamie lay on her stomach on the carpet, the turtle's scrawny, nearly stuffing-less pink legs slung across her shoulders, and her Barbie dolls scattered about her. She crawled towards a tin of ginger thins by the hearth and stuck her hand in eagerly. 'The dolls, the biscuits, and now, the _turtle—_you're like, her Father Christmas, for Christ's sake,' Katie muttered grudgingly. 'Oh, my God,' she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose: Jamie inhaled handful after handful of thins from the tin, the crumbs dropping onto the edge of the carpet. 'She's going to get _fat. _This is all your fault.'

'Let her _eat; _just because _you're _an international cover model with postpartum, doesn't mean your daughter has to be, too,' Emily smiled as Jamie glanced up at her, her mouth smeared with streaks of sugar and cookie crumbs. She returned the little wave sent her way and turned back to look at Katie, 'I'm all she's got. You know I love her senseless; look at her.' She nodded towards her niece fondly, 'When she's got that—'

'Right, that's it,' Katie brushed past her suddenly, striding into the sitting room purposefully. 'Playtime's over, Jamie. Enough of that,' she pushed the tin away from Jamie with her foot and bent down to pull her up rather roughly from the floor. She swept the dolls up and thrust them at her, pushing the turtle down at the top of the pile. 'Go on, say goodnight to your aunt and go to bed. Don't stay up late; go to bed immediately, you understand? Go on, say goodnight,' she nudged Jamie forward with a less-than-gentle push and crossed her arms. Jamie padded tentatively over to Emily, wiping the crumbs from her face with the back of her hand almost ashamedly before leaning up to kiss her.

'I'll see you upstairs, alright?' Emily whispered, bending down to wrap her in a warm hug. 'Don't lock your window.' Jamie beamed brightly and swiveled back, closing a wide detour around the sitting room to avoid contact with her mother before racing up the stairs.

'You could try harder, you know,' Emily muttered quietly, following her niece's retreating back with regretful eyes. 'It isn't any easier for her either.'

'I _am_ trying,' Katie rubbed her forehead in frustration. 'Isn't it obvious? I'm fucking trying. It's gotten a lot better since last year, when I couldn't look at her without wanting to hit her. I'm taking therapy, I'm taking medication—I'm trying,' she sighed tiredly. 'It's difficult for me, too, Emily. It's difficult. When you see her, all you see is a ray of fucking sunshine; I look at her, and—' she closed her eyes and bit her lip. '—I look at her, all I see is him, and everything I've ever done wrong—'

'She's not a fucking mistake,' Emily snapped angrily. 'She's a goddamn blessing, and the best thing that's ever happened to you, to me, to _mum_—'

'I know, I know,' Katie amended quickly. 'I didn't say she was._ I _made a mistake, and she's paying for it—it isn't fair, is all. Look,' she glanced at her watch and shuffled her feet restlessly. 'It's getting late, and you need to get back, yeah? We'll be okay. I'm trying, Emily,' she pleaded softly. 'You know I am.'

**xx**

* * *

**I had to lop off the second half of this chapter because it was far, **_**far **_**too long as a whole, even for my standards. You probably would've fallen asleep halfway through if I'd slung it all in one go. **

**How was it? Let me know, my lovelies! You know how I love hearing from you! x**


	4. Chapter Three

**I should be revising for my midterms, but I couldn't **_**not **_**get this up for all of you. So, w****ithout further ado, I give you the second half of the previous chapter! Alas, **_**no. **_**This isn't—and will **_**not **_**be—a mini-Doccubus cross-over, though I certainly am not averse to the idea. It was just a rather sly case of, er, **_**coincidentally**_** similar names, among other things.**

**Tell me how you think about this one! Again, I'm sorry for the length, but I really had no control over my fingers. And yet, somehow, I don't think you'll be complaining at all. *wink***

**xx**

* * *

'No,' Emily said flatly, throwing the folder across the table brusquely. 'No, no, no. It's pathetic. Have you read through this, Reeve?' she asked sharply, narrowing her eyes at the man to her left. He shrank back in his chair and scratched his chin, faltering under the withering look she sent his way.

'I did, Miss Fitch. I thought it was rather good, you know, the abrupt change in theme for the January issue. All about change, right? A New Year, and all that?' he mopped his brow with a kerchief quickly, his breathing ragged and uneven. 'I thought it was good,' he reiterated quietly, glancing away from her.

'You _thought,' _she mused, tapping her fingertips against the armrest. 'So, I suppose you could easily find a way to _think _of an easy way out of this? Right before the board inspection this November? You make it sound so delightfully easy, Reeve. Thinking.' He stiffened; the other members at the table remained silent, for fear that her wrath would turn on them if they made so much as a sound.

An intern slipped quietly into the room, bearing a tray of coffee; she tensed, the silence permeating the air frightened her, and her fingers shook as she set down mugs in front of her superiors. Emily bit her lip and smirked, 'Someone get me McClair.'

Trembling fingers whipped out their phones, typing hastily into keypads. The sound of half a dozen BlackBerries pinging alerts and emails brought back unpleasant memories of that afternoon tryst with Cook. 'Not all of you all at once,' she snapped. 'How the hell are you all going to reach him at the same time?' They lowered their phones sheepishly as Reeve waved his hand to get her attention.

'I've got Mister McClair on line two, what shall I say?' he asked hesitantly. Emily turned to him slowly, her eyes alight with mischief.

'Tell him to set a lunch date at two at—Margaret, what's the hotel nearest again, the St. Regis one?' she asked offhandedly, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

'The Lanesborough, Miss Fitch,' she said tentatively. 'Shall I send for George to take you to Hyde Park at one-thirty?'

'Mm, tell McClair to set an appointment for two at two at the Lanesborough; tell him I have a prospective offer even he can't decline,' she pushed back her seat and made to get up.

The rest happened much too quickly.

The intern behind her yelped as the back of the swivel-chair collided with her tray; she lurched forward in an attempt to gain her balance, the tray tipping precariously in her grasp. Reeve scrambled to his feet and gave a great cry, but it was much too late—the tray flew out of the intern's hands, spilling the steaming contents of all four remaining mugs onto the person nearest her: Emily.

Emily screamed as the liquid scalded her, the rim of a mug slamming roughly against her cheek and effectively dousing her with searing hot coffee. Another landed across her lap, seeping quickly into her cashmere while the last two rolled underneath the table, but not before spilling down her stockings and into her heels. If it had been anybody else, the situation would have been nothing short of comical, but the look on Emily's face suggested that humor was the farthest thing from her mind. Reeve and the editors around the meeting table gaped at her in unabashed horror, unsure what to do or who to comfort—their increasingly red-faced editor-in-chief, or the pixie-haired intern who was desperately trying to keep her tears at bay. The silence thickened, the seconds dragging on painfully.

'Margaret,' she said calmly, breaking their agitated reverie. She trembled as she spoke. 'Tell me. You were there when I had this sent for, weren't you? What am I wearing?'

'Tissue Silk Caftan from the Classic Collection Line, by Donna Karan, New York,' Margaret whispered. 'And, Mill—Slate Elaphe pumps—from Jimmy Choos' Cruise Fourteen, Spring Luxury Seasonal Collection. They were a matched set, sent from Bond Street through your personal shopper three weeks ago.'

'And, how much did it all amount to, Margaret?' Emily stood up slowly, her face flaming red. Her cashmere was drenched, right down to the knee-length top she had on. Her cheek was inflamed from the coffee, and her pumps were stained a horrible brown.

'Twenty-four hundred quid,' Margaret closed her eyes, the figure slipping softly from her lips. The editors lowered their gazes, dreading the inevitable.

Emily strode across the room, slinging a blazer across her shoulders as she headed for the double glass doors at the far-end of the room. 'Deduct it from her salary, then. Take it from her fucking thirteenth month if you have to.' The intern trembled as she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

'And, what was your name again?' Emily turned to glance at her. She sniffled, little patches of red blossoming on her cheeks.

'I'm so sorry, Miss Fitch,' she choked back a sob. 'I'm so sorry, please—this is the only thing I have, please—my mother's in intensive care, and my sister just got laid off—'

'Your name,' Emily cut in impatiently. 'I asked for your name.'

'Jane,' she whispered softly, rubbing at her eyes. 'It's Jane, Miss Fitch.'

'Jane,' Emily rolled the name off her tongue for a while, glancing out the window as if in thought. 'Jane. Well, then, Jane,' she glanced back at her and smiled tightly. 'You're fired. Get out of my fucking office, and if I see your face here again—I'll drag you to the courthouse myself.'

**xx**

'Miss Fitch,' he stood up briskly, reaching out to take her hand as she approached his table. He stopped short at the sight of her; disgruntled, disheveled, and frankly disagreeable. 'I take it you've had a particularly stressful day?' he asked lightly, attempting to ease her mood.

'It isn't funny, Freddie,' she hissed, sweeping her hair back before sitting down rather stiffly in front of him. 'I've fired fifteen bitches in three months, and I've laid off another one today. Don't sour my mood.'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' he smirked. He waved a waiter over and flicked the menu card back and forth absently, 'I'll have a bottle—Merlot, or Chardonnay; whichever, really—if you would please. And,' his gaze flickered over to Emily, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. 'A plate of buttered crumpets.'

'Trying to be funny, are you?' Emily narrowed her eyes at him as the waiter swept away with their orders. Freddie brushed her off cheerily.

'What happened to the little girl who believed buttered crumpets were the solution to everything?' he raised a brow playfully. 'Including, if I recall correctly,' he scratched his chin, mock-thoughtfully. 'World hunger? Ever the advocate, weren't you, Ems? Come on, for old time's sake.'

Emily rolled her eyes, 'All this from the same boy who chased after women's hair accessories for most of his grammar school years—tell me, Freds, did you keep all my bows in a doily box? Or did you put them in your sister's dresser for safe keeping?' She laughed at the way the tips of his ears flushed a bright red. 'You know, for the longest time, I was thoroughly convinced you were gay. You and James.'

He snorted, 'How does it feel to be proven wrong every once in a while? Wait,' he wrinkled his nose. 'No. I don't need details of your vibrant sex life with Cook.' Their waiter came back with a cart laden with wine glasses and an ice-cold bottle of Chablis; Emily glanced curiously at the cloth napkin that obscured the platter of pastries beneath it. Freddie followed her gaze and smirked, 'Smells like your childhood, doesn't it, Em?'

'Something like that,' she said softly, pulling off the napkin and reaching for a crumpet. 'I used to have these all the time with Katie,' she trailed off, her eyes glazed over. 'We'd go for picnics, up at Brandon Hill—the park there, you remember?'

'How could I not?' he laughed. 'Everyone knew it was your haunt—Little Emily Fitch, the infamous minx; too young for school and too old for imaginary friends,' he continued merrily, pouring them both a generous amount of wine, heedless of the way Emily stiffened briefly in her seat.

'What, and Little Frederic McClair wasn't a child-arsonist with homoerotic tendencies?' she bit back. He shrugged, wiping his mouth with the edge of a napkin delicately.

'So,' he gestured towards her with a crumpet. 'To what do I owe the honor of this impromptu visit?' he asked wryly.

Emily laced her fingers under her chin, 'You're currently the company's largest stockholder. Three percent more entitles you to a share, and an honorary position on the Board of Trustees.' She didn't look too pleased at the prospect and settled back in her seat. 'You profit when we do—but now, I think you've realized we're running a bit short.' Freddie fetched his glasses from the chain that hung round his neck and peered at her over them.

'Are you propositioning me, then?' he asked dubiously. 'I can't promise a take-over, Em. You're not exactly a market asset at the moment.'

'Nothing like that,' Emily snapped. She shoved a manila folder across the table towards him, 'We can help each other. The company isn't for sale, and frankly, I have no intentions of relinquishing that status anytime soon. I need a stable market, you need a decent profit share; we can tie up loose ends.' He rifled through the paperwork, his frown deepening.

'Stockholm?' he asked incredulously. He pinched a corner of the itinerary between finger and thumb and held it out gingerly. 'What are you planning to do with my base at _Stockholm?'_

'Marketing,' she said simply, unfazed by his growing indignation. 'I was sort of hoping you'd sponsor me?' she asked coyly.

'In three months?' he cried, exasperated. 'You can't just expect me to pull out teams on short-notice to make room for you; I just dispatched them last week! You could've told me this earlier!' Several heads tuned to glance in his direction, startled by his outburst. 'Why're you in such a bloody hurry to leave the country?' he whispered furiously.

'We ran surveys and polls on a carefully controlled population through our cross-marketing division head. Believe me, it has untapped potential, resources and market-wise. Stockholm and,' she bit into a crumpet thoughtfully. 'Manila.'

'Manila,' he enunciated slowly. He whipped off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'You'll jump bases over the course of—how long did you say you'd take?'

'Three months,' she smiled thinly.

'D'you realize how much trouble you'll be making for me? And the various financial repercussions of your brilliant plan? You ask much. If you were anyone less, Fitch, I would have thrown you out by the scruff of your neck by now.'

'Humor me, Freddie. For old times sake,' she echoed back at him, skimming a finger around the rim of her wine glass delicately. 'Who knows? I might even make it worth your while,' she smirked at the blush that stained his cheeks.

'Don't, Emily,' he muttered quietly. 'It was a one-off; I swore I would never betray Cook like that again. It was a mistake.'

'Didn't seem like it,' Emily laughed, leaning forward in her seat to clink her glass against his. 'I thought you rather enjoyed it. I know I did. Not exactly hankering after a repeat, but it certainly jogs the memory on certain _lonely _nights—keeps the imagination fresh.' She raised a brow, 'Keeps things—interesting.'

'You're a filthy, ambitious bitch,' Freddie growled, the tips of his ears a deep, flaming red. 'You keep mum about it, you hear? Cook can't—You swore you'd never—'

'Relax,' she yawned, running a hand lazily through her curls. 'What he doesn't know won't hurt him.' Freddie shifted nervously in his seat, smoothing his lapel self-consciously. 'Look, just give me a chance. I'll secure Stockholm by mid-September, and Manila by the third week of November. From there, Mexico and Brasilia will be easy pickings. But, everyone's got to start small. Trust me on this.'

'There are countless openings at the business districts at this time of year—they subsist solely on international trade in some places. Let me see if I can get to them within the day; it'll be past working hours now,' he grumbled, swiping his fingers across the print-stained screen of his tablet in resignation.

**xx**

'True, but the fact they've been under Spain for nearly three hundred years would most likely—But—I didn't notice if there were, I suppose. They all look the same to me—What photos? Oh, those? They're _not _pulled by camels—Horses, you twat. _Horses—_Hold on,' Emily frowned, mid-speech. She paused and glanced down at the wireless phone, ringing incessantly for all it was worth. 'Can I call you back, James? I've got Katie on the other line.' Static crackled through the ear piece and Katie's familiar whining filled the air. 'Normally, I'd reproach you on the astronomical costs you're banking up by opting to talk via phone card as opposed to consumer-friendly chat apps like Viber, but then I figured—hey. It's your money. And who am I—a wretched, illogical half-wit—to lecture you on the finer points of intellectual-consumerism?'

'That's nice, Ems. You done being a pretentious wanker, now? 'Cause, as much as I've fucking missed you, I am _really _not in the mood for fucking around right now.'

'Shit, sorry—it's just, this is the fourth bloody seminar I've had to listen to in three days about Delivering Quality Customer Service, and Seizing The Sought-After Collective Asset. I think I'm beginning to talk like the sodding, overenthusiastic speakers I've been shelved with, day in and day out.'

'That sounds like a load of crap you've been dealt,' Katie remarked dryly, coiling the phone cord round and round her pinky. 'Look at the bright side: you'll be coming home in two weeks.'

'Not exactly looking forward to it,' Emily groaned. She sank back into her cushions and stared dolefully up at the ceiling. 'I have to set up press-cons the day after I get back.' She took a thin cigar between her teeth and lit up lazily, 'Manila, by the way, is dreadfully fucking _stifling. _The humidity's crimping my curls, and the toilets are nearly filthy on principle. But, their little hand-rolled cigarettes are a guilty pleasure, and their food is pretty exquisite; they've got these little rice—'

'Listen, Ems. There's something I have to—'

'—And you pour this little sauce over it, yeah? And your teeth, they like, just _sink _into it. But, you know, the weirdest thing about the Penn is that's at a premier location, right? But, the parking's—'

'—I can't put it off much longer, so if you could take the time to—'

'—In contrast, though, their toilet seats are freezing—'

'—Look, I didn't go through all the fucking trouble of finding a land-line to hear your gripe about how your fucking face towels aren't warm enough, or how insensitively cold their toilet seats are on your arse,' Katie cut in impatiently. Emily exhaled a mouthful of smoke noisily, drawing out a breath through her nose.

'Then pray tell, why the fuck would you bother to call at four in the morning?' she ground her teeth together. 'Christ, Katie. I've got a conference to attend tomorrow at seven—'

'It's about Jamie,' Katie nearly whispered, her voice breaking, suffused with the soft noise of crackling static. Emily sat bolt upright, the cigar dangling loosely from her lips.

'What's wrong?' she demanded, her tone sharp and accusatory. 'What have you done?' Katie struggled for words, mumbling incoherently into the mouthpiece at brief, breathy intervals. Emily wrenched the stick from her mouth and stubbed it out violently against the window sill, her skin suddenly clammy with cold sweat. 'Goddamn it, Katie,' she cried, gripping the phone tighter. 'What have you done to my princess?'

'Nothing!' Katie yelped, winded. She was breathing nervously through her mouth, her accent muffled and masked by short, spastic gasps, 'Ever since you left last July, she's been different. She doesn't go out as often, and she doesn't speak to anyone anymore. She holes herself up in her room for hours, and—' she coughed; a thick, scratchy hack, once or twice. '—I think she took it hard, your leaving her. I don't exactly have the liberty to see to her everyday, I'm on schedule: I'll have got a new line up on rack by January and—'

'Clothes are more important than your own flesh and blood then?' Emily snapped heatedly. 'She needs someone to talk to her, see if she's doing okay. You know what's she like when she starts acting up at school, you're fucking lucky she hasn't tried anything lately!'

'That's my point!' the fear in Katie's voice startled her, and she found herself clutching the phone a bit tighter for comfort. 'She's different, Ems. She won't look at me anymore, she just keeps to herself. It's like she's stuck in her own little world—I'm fucking concerned, alright? It isn't like her. I'm taking her to a specialist this weekend, try to nip the bud at the—'

'You're taking her to see a psychiatrist?' Emily cried, horrified. 'She's not fucking mad! She's just lonely! Did you even bother to _think _about the effect it might have on her? You can't just chuck her in the mad house because you can't deal with the occasional spastic bout of the blues!'

'What would _you _know? I'm her fucking mother, I know _her,_' Katie snapped angrily. 'You know what she's like. _You_ try living with an ADHD head case, everyday for the next six years, see how you like it! She's _talking _to herself, d'you have any idea how terrified I've been? Her doctors are concerned; they're calling her out on it, talking about it being some sort of symptom of manic depression, and considering dad's medical history, it's not a far-off possibility. Either that or autism, they can't rule anything out yet, not without tests. I can't afford to take her to therapy, the press would latch on immediately! And, goddamn it—you're just as bad, you filthy hypocrite. You haven't even spoken to her once since you left; what, they didn't have an internet connection at the hotels you were staying at for six sodding months?'

'It wasn't like that,' Emily flinched at the accusation in her voice, guilt welling up inside her. 'I just couldn't find the time to try and—'

'Save your breath,' Katie scoffed. 'Look, I have to go. This thing's primed for twenty minutes, and this sentence officially makes eighteen. I'll call you back tonight. I have a premier to get to in three hours, I need to send for her.'

'What, you aren't picking her up yourself?' Emily asked uncomfortably, the neglect they doled out in seemingly equal measure towards her niece stifling her.

'If I had to, then I'd have to fire Harris,' Katie muttered flippantly, glancing at the phone-jack impatiently. 'Look, I have to go, yeah? I'll get her to talk to you before she goes to bed.'

'Katie, don't. She isn't different, I know she isn't. Don't do this to her. Wait for me to get back, at least. Let me see if I can do anything about it,' she pleaded quickly, eager to appease her twin's increasing temper. 'For me,' she said insistently, nearly breathless in terrified anticipation.

'I'll get her to talk to you later,' Katie repeated, infuriatingly calmly.

**xx**

'I'm her four-thirty,' Emily smiled through gritted teeth, her half-arsed attempt at charming the secretary by the reception desk failing miserably. He looked her over skeptically, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

'She has a scheduled appointment at five, with a certain—' he glanced down at his list impatiently, '—Doctor Foster. I can't let you take her out now,' he squinted distrustfully at her over his pince-nez. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, or I'm calling Miss Fitch.'

'I _am _Miss Fitch!' she protested hotly. 'Emily, Emily Fitch, that is,' she amended hastily. 'I'm her aunt, and legal guardian. Look,' she said, clasping her hands together in supplication underneath the desk. 'I'll be honest with you, Richard—'

'Grant,' he mumbled irritably, flicking his pen cap closed.

'Grant,' she acquiesced. His haughty demeanor sparked something sinister within her, and all thoughts of maintaining civil, and amiable decorum fled from her in a breath. 'I flew in from a thirteen hour flight last night at two-twenty, and I haven't gotten any sleep since then because I've had to manually set up what could possibly be the biggest event in whatever's left of my painfully short career as a publishing editor. I haven't seen my niece in nearly six months, and I've grown extremely irate at her mother's insinuations that _I _am to blame for her irrational impulsiveness—which, by the way, is merely an unpleasant side-effect of her ADHD: a fact everyone just _happens _to look over—and now you're telling me I _can't _see her?'

She drew herself up defiantly, cocking her head back in hostile arrogance, 'I could have you fired, Grant. Have you replaced with someone infinitely more competent, more customer-friendly and, possibly, better looking. I earn in an hour what you make in three months, you cocky, little bastard,' she hissed. She slammed her hands down on the counter-top and leaned forward threateningly. 'Go on, try me. While you're under _this _sorry excuse for an institution's pay, I _also _have you under _my_ thumb; recall that this—' she gestured absently at the establishment with her free hand, '—Is one of eighteen companies under _my_ family's group of companies. You forget who you're addressing.'

He stiffened abruptly, 'My apologies, Miss Emily. I was merely fulfilling my job under Miss Katherine's orders—she distinctly gave instructions not to let you interfere with her daughter's Plan of Treatment directly. All concerns will have to be addressed to her or the physician-in-charge, I'm afraid.'

'And addressed they shall be,' she murmured. 'But, first—release Jamie's custody to me for the remainder of the afternoon. It is _my _legal right as her guardian to see to her welfare, regardless of your employer's details of duty. I think the Constitution holds greater power over you than some model's payroll, yeah?'

He glared at her silently for a beat, then lowered his head submissively to speak to a microphone taped to his desk. He pressed the headset closer to his ear and frowned at the response crackling through to him. 'She's in Room Four-Three, led by Miss Lewis. She isn't expecting you, though,' he warned; the bittersweet sympathy lacing his tone frightened her.

She nodded jerkily, 'Right, thanks. I'll see myself to her, then.' She walked through the corridors uneasily, glancing inside the half-closed play rooms. Voices wafted towards her from a room farther down the hall, and she made it for it with deliberate slowness, silently cursing herself for being so wary towards her niece.

She stuck her head through the crack in the door and peered in gawkily. 'Er—hi,' she greeted the room at large, feeling decidedly more awkward by the minute. There were approximately fifteen other people in the room, four of whom were supervisors. She caught a glimpse of Jamie's curly pony-tail bobbing away from her periphery and frowned, bemused. 'I just, uh, came here for Jamie?'

'Miss Fitch?' she turned around hastily, nearly tripping over her own feet in surprise. She found herself trapped in a painfully compromising position with the authority figure before her, their proximity disconcerting in its abruptness. Emily backed up carefully, feeling the door jamb graze her back uncomfortably.

'Doctor Lewis?' she ventured hesitantly, cracking a smile. 'I think we've met before. You were the presiding physician when Katie took Jamie to my office for a check-up. I'm Emily,' she offered her hand.

'Please, call me Lauren,' she smiled warmly, shaking Emily's proffered hand with ill-disguised enthusiasm. 'Before I let you in there, though, do you mind if I—er—_brief _you? On the current goings-on?' Emily swallowed thickly and nodded, shuffling towards the open office door Lauren indicated.

'I'll be completely honest with you, doc,' Emily laughed nervously. 'You're scaring the living crap out of me.' She watched, discomfited, as Jamie's head physician bustled around the mini-bar in the far corner of the wall, seemingly occupied with pouring them both a generous glass of bourbon.

'There's nothing to be frightened of, Emily,' Lauren chuckled, setting a glass on the coffee table before her. She brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face and tucked it behind an ear quietly, glancing out the curtained window. Emily swallowed a mouthful of alcohol, wincing as the liquid seared a burning path down her throat.

'So,' she gasped, eyes watering involuntarily. 'Give it to me straight. What's wrong with my Jamie?' Lauren looked at her oddly, eyes bright and glazed over at the same time.

'Nothing's wrong with her at all,' she murmured, brows drawing together. 'She's a child displaying all the typical signs of separation anxiety—not to be confused with child depression. It's a normal psychological part of growing up, I have absolutely no idea why your sister adamantly refuses to believe that Jamie has no severe psychological issues that need to be treated with utmost urgency. I think she's a signature short of sanctioning cranial electrotherapy on her next visit,' she frowned at her over the rim of her glass, tilting her head back to down a mouthful.

'Electrotherapy?' Emily squeaked. 'Like, the kind where they chain you to those strappy hospital beds and attach wires on your head to shock you? Like what they did to John Nash, in _A_ _Beautiful Mind?'_

'I think you might be confusing psychotherapy with BDSM,' Lauren laughed, clearing her throat awkwardly at the look of genuine horror on Emily's face. 'I was kidding, Emily,' she said seriously. 'No one's going to hook Jamie up to an electrocurrent any time soon.'

'Oh. Oh, good,' Emily breathed, settling back on the sofa. 'So, why are we here, exactly? What did you want to talk about?'

'While she isn't—thankfully—a candidate for schizophrenia, I just want to give you a little heads up before you go in there,' Lauren collected their empty glasses and cradled them to her chest. 'She's still not sociable—not by a long shot. The most you can probably get out of her is a monosyllabic response, every now and then. She prefers to play by herself, and remains arbitrarily indifferent to her surroundings. Also, don't be frightened—but, lately, she talks to herself. As a child-psychologist, I'm telling you now that this is perfectly normal. Fantasy worlds usually fade after the age of nine, as the child begins to assimilate certain societal roles—'

'Hold on,' Emily interrupted. 'Have you—_observed _her ? While she's playing alone?'

'Yes, of course,' Lauren looked at her strangely, like she'd just politely inquired if water was still wet. 'All for science, of course. No breach of privacy whatsoever, your sister signed a waiver—'

Emily waved her off impatiently, 'I mean, have you _heard _her play?' Lauren nodded, nonplussed. 'What does she say? What does she talk about? Who does she talk to?' Emily asked curiously.

'She's extremely fond of reading, did you know? I think it'd be safe to assume her favorite author right now is Carolyn Keene, if her recent preferences are anything to go by,' Lauren smirked. 'I think you can put two and two together.'

'Nancy?' Emily asked, surprised. 'She likes to pretend she's Nancy Drew?' Lauren raised a brow in acknowledgment. 'Does she go around the room sleuthing or something?'

'Something like that,' Lauren laughed, getting to her feet and dropping the glasses into a tiny sink by the corner. ' When you finally see her, don't be too surprised, or too disheartened, for that matter. She's still most likely sore at you for leaving her so unceremoniously, but she'll warm up eventually. I've a feeling that once she lets go of her hostility towards you, she'll go right back to being the Jamie you know and love.'

Emily stood up and made for the door, clasping Lauren's hands in hers briefly, 'Thank you, Doctor Lewis. For what it's worth, I'm really grateful you haven't given up on her.'

'The pleasure's all mine,' Lauren beamed, holding the door open for her. 'She's a lovely girl.' Emily stepped out into the corridor and made to go back the way she came. 'Oh, and Emily?' Lauren called, smiling when she swiveled around to glance back at her.

'Sometimes, there's a pattern. If you look closely enough, you'll be able to see it for yourself,' Emily gaped at her, her forehead crumpled in confusion.

'What d'you mean?' Emily cried after her, frustrated at the door she'd begun to close softly. 'Wait, I'm talking to y—'

'They don't call it cycles for nothing,' Lauren winked at her, peering from the crack between the edge and the door jamb before closing the door fully. Emily sighed and padded over to the adjacent room, peeking in hesitantly. She yelped in surprise and jumped backward as the door was wrenched open bodily; a tiny figure stood, feet planted wide apart, behind it.

'Emsy!' Jamie cried, rushing forward and throwing herself into Emily's arms. Emily staggered back in surprise before returning the embrace tightly, burrowing her face in her niece's warm brown hair.

'Hi, Jay,' Emily cooed softly, kissing her all over. 'I missed you so much.' Jamie grabbed great fistfuls of Emily's coat and sobbed into her neck, nodding against her spastically. 'I missed you lots and lots and lots.'

'I missed you, too,' Jamie whimpered, rubbing her eyes with the cuffs of her jumpers alternately. 'I missed you lots and lots and lots.' She buried her face against Emily's neck and took great shuddering breaths, Emily rubbing up and down her back to soothe her.

'I've got you for myself the entire afternoon,' Emily whispered conspiratorially, pressing their foreheads together and kissing the tip of her nose. 'That way I can make things up to you quicker. How 'bout some ice cream?'

Jamie nodded frantically, linking her arms behind Emily's neck as Emily stooped to pick her up. They walked in silence back to the parking lot, Emily shifting every now and then to find better purchase on Jamie in her arms. She unlocked the door one-handed and crouched down to help her in. 'Up you get, princess,' she smiled, pulling down the seat belt and strapping her in comfortably.

She reached over the center console for Jamie's hand as they sped down the freeway, tracing little circles on her knuckles with her thumb. 'How've you been, Jay? You've grown a lot since I last saw you, and your hair's a lot longer than last time,' she said. Jamie stared at her lap in silence, humming an indistinct tune softly to herself.

'You missed my birthday,' she lisped softly, without preamble. 'And you didn't call to greet me. I waited for you to, but you didn't.'

Emily gripped the steering wheel tighter, 'I wanted to, sweetie. I just—I just couldn't—'

'Me and mum, we ate at Lansing's on my birthday, but I got clusterly and knocked over her—'

'_Clumsy,'_ Emily corrected gently, leaning over to brush a lock of hair back from Jamie's mouth and push it up her forehead.

'But I got clumsy and knocked over her wine glass, and she got mad, and we left Lansing's right after, and she pulled me inside the car, and she called me funny names,' Jamie bit her thumb again and resumed humming tonelessly to herself. Emily idled the car at the red light and glanced at her worriedly, fighting down an upsurge of violent emotions alternating nearly schizophrenically between hatred for her sister and concern for her niece.

'What did she call you, Jay? Come on,' she twined their fingers together encouragingly. 'We tell each other everything. What did mummy do?' she asked softly, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. Jamie frowned, like she had difficulty remembering.

'Lots of words from shows on the telly you've told me aren't nice to say to other people,' she said. Emily flinched at the casualness of it all, at the lack of upheaving emotion on Jamie's part, like she had arbitrarily disconnected herself from the incident and was merely narrating the course of events as a casual observer.

The green light blinked and Emily revved the car forward, steering carefully onto the outer lane and slowing down marginally. She squeezed Jamie's little hand in hers, 'Did—did she hit you, Jay?'

Jamie looked at her strangely; she chewed at her bottom lip, 'Mummy says I'm not supposed to tell anyone. She says I'm not supposed to tell _you, _or—' she looked down at her lap again, fear flickering in her eyes. 'Don't tell her I told you.'

Emily bit her lip, 'I won't, princess. I wouldn't dream of it.'

'Mummy says I'm a bad girl,' she explained, as if that made everything alright—a mechanical response. 'Mummy said you wouldn't call because I'd been a bad girl, and that you were punishing me for it.' Emily opened her mouth to protest heatedly, but Jamie cut her off. 'But, I heard you on the phone with mummy that night, and I know you were talking about work; money and books, and adult stuff. Mummy always tries to say something really naughty about you—she says you wouldn't like me at all if you weren't my aunty, and that you're just being nice to me because you have to, because you're sisters. But, I don't believe her. You love me, don't you, Emsy? You tell me that, all the time.' Jamie turned to look at her, and it was the way she asked—her eyes doubtful, and hollow, and frightened, and confused, and lost, and miserable, and tired, and so _resigned: _seeking assurance amidst a failing faith_—_that did her in.

A tear traced down her cheek and she swerved the car onto the emergency lay-over to compose herself. She unbuckled herself swiftly and shifted in her seat to face Jamie, holding out her arms. Jamie pulled off the seat belt and scrambled over the console to her, making little noises of contentment as Emily pulled her into her lap and held her tight. Her little arms couldn't go all the way back and they stopped somewhere short of Emily's spine, her fingers gripping her closer, tighter—and in that moment, she was made all too aware of just how _young _Jamie was; a child in a world that did not want her, did not _need _her, to be one.

She cried softly against Jamie's hair, swaying her gently in her arms. 'I love you, Jay. Your mum's being mean, and she's telling fibs—but you don't believe that, do you? I love you,' she sniffled, leaning back and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

'I know,' Jamie said quietly, watching her curiously. 'Don't cry, Emsy,' she pushed her palms against Emily's cheeks and rubbed the tear-tracks away.

'I'm sorry,' Emily whimpered, her voice breaking at the simple touch. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' she leaned her face into Jamie's palm, tears slipping from her eyes involuntarily.

'Me too,' Jamie buried her face against Emily's chest. 'Me too.'

'You have nothing to apologize for, Jay,' Emily said vehemently, angling back and gripping the tops of Jamie's arms to look at her properly. 'D'you understand? You've done nothing wrong. You have nothing to apologize for.'

She touched her forehead to Jamie's comfortingly, the tips of their noses brushing. 'Nothing to apologize for.'

**xx**

'Come in,' Emily muttered distractedly, barely glancing up from her paperwork. The glass door swung open softly, and a faint floral scent wafted across the room. 'Cookie?' she said, incredulously. He grinned at her sheepishly, raking a hand through his hair.

'Hi, Red,' he smiled, striding over to her. 'These are for you,' he said, unnecessarily, thrusting a half-wilted bouquet of lilies at her. 'They were fresh,' he frowned down at them, looking disappointed. 'But, I got held up for two hours in traffic, and I couldn't get them any—'

'Oh, Cookie, they're lovely. Thank you,' she took them gratefully. She made her way over to him and cradled his face in her hands. 'Why're you here?' she kissed him softly, brushing her fingers over his cheeks.

'I have sources,' he raised a brow mischievously. 'And a little birdie let slip that you had a pretty bad meeting with the Board earlier this morning. Thought I'd cheer you up.'

'You're lovely,' she sighed, leaning in to kiss him again. 'Thank you. Things have just been so,' she gestured wildly, at a loss for words.

'Crappy,' he smiled sympathetically. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her tighter to him.

'Crappy,' she agreed, breathless. 'They're pressuring me to raise the poll stats, like I have control on the direct market, two weeks in. They might pull out support, James.' She pressed her palms to her eyes, feeling tears well up. 'I'll have nothing left.'

'You'll have me,' he said softly, tilting her chin up with a finger and kissing her nose delicately. 'I'd love you anyway.' She threw her arms around his neck and held him wordlessly.

'Thank you,' she said helplessly, burying her face in the crook of his neck. 'Dad was there,' she said quietly.

Cook held her closer, protectively. 'What did he say?' he asked. 'What happened?'

'Nothing,' she said miserably. 'That's the point. He could've defended me in front of all those self-righteous cunts, but he kept his mouth shut all throughout the affair. I've never been so humiliated in my entire life. It was like he'd publicly declared, _'This isn't my daughter anymore. I have nothing more to do with her.'_'

'What a bastard,' Cook sighed tiredly. He took her hands in his and lifted them to his lips tenderly. 'Tell me what I can do to make this okay. I can't stand seeing you like this.'

'This is enough,' she smiled weakly, pressing her forehead against his. A sharp, harsh beep blared from the intercom on her desk. She glanced at it irritably before clicking it, 'What is it?' The door to her office opened a crack, and Margaret's pixie-cut bob poked into the room sheepishly.

'Sorry to bother you, Miss Fitch, but it's sort of an emergency—I've got St. Thomas on line four, and they sound pretty livid,' she fiddled with her headset's mouthpiece nervously. 'They're looking for you.'

'St. Thomas?' Emily asked, confused. 'Jamie's school?' Her senses shot to life almost immediately, and she nearly stumbled over the corner of her desk chair in her haste to pick up the phone. 'What did they say? What's happened to her? Was there an accident? Is she okay?' she spluttered. Cook drew nearer to her and rubbed her back soothingly; Margaret shook her head apologetically.

'They didn't tell me anything. I asked them if I could connect them to Miss Katherine instead, but they said they'd already gotten in touch with her.'

'And?' Emily asked impatiently. 'What did Katie say?'

'Miss Katherine told them to call you instead, said she didn't have the time to deal with it,' Margaret looked almost sad.

'Is that all she said?' Emily raised a brow. 'Don't fuck about with me, Meg. I know my sister. Spit it out.' Margaret glanced everywhere but at her, looking at Cook briefly for wordless support.

'She said to let you deal with 'this crap,' said she couldn't be bothered to handle any more,' she mumbled eventually. Emily exhaled slowly through her teeth, nodded at her briefly in dismissal, and picked up the receiver.

**xx**

Emily strode down the empty hallway, feeling trepidation seep in with every step. She'd trembled through the entire car ride, knuckles white with worry. She spotted Jamie sitting alone on a blue plastic monoblock, outside an office she'd quickly realized was the Director's.

Jamie heard her footsteps and raised her head guiltily. Emily paused to take her in—her shoulders, heavy with an intangible weight; her little legs swinging dolefully beneath the seat; her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy from crying. 'Oh, Jay,' she whispered, crouching down in front of her and taking her hands gently. 'What happened?' she asked carefully.

'It wasn't my fault,' Jamie cried earnestly, her voice raspy and hoarse from overuse. She sniffled into her jumper and seemed to shrink further into herself, her legs coming up from beneath her as she pulled them in. 'They wouldn't stop,' she sobbed, her tears rendering her nearly incoherent, her lisp becoming more pronounced. 'They wouldn't stop being mean to me, and they were calling me things like, _'abnormal,' _and they wouldn't let me,' she hiccuped, and took a great heaving breath. 'They wouldn't let me play with them anymore, and I just—I just got so _angry, _and I couldn't help it, and I—' she collapsed against Emily's outstretched arms and cried into her shoulder, fingers scrabbling against her back desperately. 'I'm sorry, Emsy. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I won't do it again, please, I promise. Please, don't be mad, too,' she buried her face in Emily's cardigan and shuddered with every breath, her whimpers echoing off the corridor's narrow walls.

'Oh, Jay,' Emily closed her eyes and held her tighter. 'Didn't we talk about this before?' she pulled back and rubbed her brow briskly. 'What did I say before, about trying harder to control your temper? You know we don't want things like this happening again, sweetie. You promised you'd try harder. For me,' Emily tipped her head back, exasperated.

'I did!' Jamie said tearfully, clinging onto her tighter. 'I did try, Emsy. I tried my best for you, and for mum, and for—'

'Miss Fitch?' David Blood opened the door to his office suddenly and leaned against the jamb. He regarded them coldly, his eyes hard and calculating. 'If you would, please,' he gestured for her to enter and shuffled back inside wordlessly.

'Wait out here for me, alright, Jay? Can you do that for me?' Emily murmured, kissing the top of her head briskly. Jamie's eyes watered as she made her way over to Blood's office—as she shut the door, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a little figure taking off down the hall. She sighed resignedly.

**xx**

'She's a victim!' she cried indignantly, outraged at Blood's nearly clinical indifference. 'That was bullying, what they were doing to her—that was bullying! If anything, _I _can file a case against these children. It was hardly her fault! It was a defense mechanism! Ask any psychologist, they'll tell you as much! Asperger's isn't something you can keep a lid on, for Christ's sake—'

'There is no doubt in my mind about the precautions you've taken. I applaud you for making it this far without any serious repercussions as of late; not counting this one, obviously. The fact remains that Jamie Fitch is—by societal and psychological standards—unstable. Ask any psychologist, they'll tell you as much,' David took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, holding up a hand to silence Emily's outburst. 'I think it best, Miss Fitch, that you consider taking her to an institution that would be better suited to her needs—in terms of modalities, and services—until such a time when she can be deemed wholly independent.'

'Are you telling me to put her in a fucking institute for Special fucking _Needs?' _Emily shouted angrily, shoving her chair back. 'She isn't mentally incapacitated! She's top of her fucking class; she's just got issues, and mood swings—'

'Mood swings that destroyed half that classroom's learning material, nearly five hundred quid's worth of property damage, all in one go,' Blood narrowed his eyes in her direction. 'This isn't the first time this has happened, I take it? I've reviewed her file carefully as well. And, there's no need to take that tone with me, Miss Fitch. We can be perfectly civil about—'

'I'll start being civil with you when you stop treating her like a raging fucking lunatic! If this is about money, Christ, we can _pay—'_

'She poses a threat to the staff and the students, Miss Fitch. This school isn't equipped with the services required to accommodate children with her disorder! Several parents have phoned in today, all worried sick about their children's safety within—'

'You talk about her like she's out for fucking blood!' Emily was nearly in tears. 'Like she's a threat to everyone's safety. She's the sweetest girl in the world, my Jamie. You don't know her. You don't know her like I do. How dare you? How can you even—?' she got to her feet, muttering in frustration.

'She can come back to us, of course, once she's all sorted out,' Blood called out after her, even as she made her way to the door and flung it open before her.

'You're having a fucking laugh, are you?' she snarled over her shoulder. 'I'll bring her back here when she's twenty-two and the princess of my fucking corporate empire, just so she can rub it in your cunting arse-face!' She slammed the door shut soundly behind her and began the arduous task of picking out the trail her niece might've taken in her hasty flight.

Jamie was nowhere in sight; she felt guilt claw up her throat, weighing down her steps. She picked her way past half-open classrooms and briefly considered checking the cafeteria before dismissing the thought completely. Emily traced a circuit round the grounds, stopping short of the chain-link fence separating her from the playground. There were voices, then, wafting across the field towards her—hushed and comforting voices, interspersed with quiet sobbing.

The rusty gate was left ajar, and she pushed it open without much difficulty. It swung creakily on its hinges, and she flinched as it scraped carelessly over the packed dirt. She ran a hand cautiously against the brick-wall beside her, following it slowly, steadily. The edge of the building veered away sharply to the left then, and she stood there mutely, wondering how best to proceed. Jamie's soft little voice carried over to her, and she peered out from behind the wall to chance a glance. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight: Jamie was talking to someone, wiping her nose clumsily with a coat sleeve before breaking into another fit of sobbing. She pushed herself slowly on the swing, the tips of her sneakers barely scuffing the ground. Emily watched, bemused, as the stranger settled into the seat beside her. Jamie reached across the space between them to take their hand and released a shaky, pent-up breath. A sharp, cold wind blasted through the air and she fumbled at her skirt as a precaution. Jamie's companion tilted their head back to keep the hair from drifting across their face before sneezing soundly, earning a tiny laugh from Jamie. All of a sudden, Emily's phone sprang to life, its incessant ringing inappropriately loud: she muttered a long string of curses under her breath and rooted around her bag to silence the offending object.

'Emsy?' Jamie called out guiltily. Emily's head snapped up mechanically to look at her, opening her mouth to offer comfort, reassurance—she caught the eyes of the stranger beside her instead. Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in the specter before her; _They _stared back at her, equally stunned, but far more composed.

As far as she could tell, seventeen years had changed absolutely nothing.

Emily stumbled backward and leaned heavily against the brick-wall behind her as she tried to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, ignoring Jamie's increasingly fearful cries in the background—white noise amidst the sound of her own frantic heartbeat.

She was imagining things, she decided. Yes, that was it. That, or the stress of the past few months had finally turned her mad. She shook her head and swallowed thickly; she was being pathetically irrational, and Emily Fitch—Emily _fucking_ Fitch—was anything but.

Emily composed herself resolutely and hastily drafted a quick apology in her head to the stranger she'd most likely frightened off with her dramatic theatrics. She turned around and made for the pair—

—Before colliding almost painfully with someone before her. 'Emily?' she closed her eyes at the sound and felt tears prick behind her lids reflexively. She'd know that voice anywhere—how could she not? She'd spent nearly all of her childhood years committing it to memory, associating it with a face she'd sworn never to forget, no matter how painful the thought of it had become—it brought memories of a life seemingly light-years away, brimming unbidden to the surface.

She had gone mad, she decided desperately. Her subconscious had crafted a frustrated fantasy and made it tangible for the sheer pleasure of watching her squirm. Her knees trembled and would've given way beneath her, but there were arms around her now, holding her up, and they felt solid. Familiar. Comforting.

'Emily,' it called again, more softly—it was hesitant, and confused, and incredulous all at once, and it sent an irrational thrill coursing through her. It was the selfsame voice that had lulled her to sleep every night nearly half a decade ago, she remembered _that._

She remembered everything.

She was far too afraid to open her eyes, to shatter the image in her head, to be brought back to earth unpleasantly hard if she was mistaken—it would be far too cruel to raise her hopes, and have them dashed completely all the same—but there were gentle fingers tilting her chin up now, and there was nowhere to hide.

Her eyes flickered open, and a tear escaped down her cheek. Naomi smiled down at her, gripping her elbows gently.

'Hi,' Naomi said shyly, flicking her head back to keep the hair from falling in her eyes. Emily's initial confused disbelief faded, resentment welling up inside her like poison before giving way almost immediately to fury—she hated that she still felt so small in _her_ arms, hated that _her_ cobalt-gray eyes were better now than they ever were in her memory, hated that Naomi still felt like _home_ even after everything, _everything._

But, she buried her face in her shoulder anyway.

And wept for all she was worth.

* * *

**xx**

**Leave me a review, pretty please? x**


	5. Chapter Four

**I hope you've all had a lovely week; consider this a belated Valentine's Day present, from me to you. **

**Right. I suppose I best let you get on with it, yeah? x**

* * *

**prelude. solstice.**

* * *

Emily lost herself in the feel of her, the scent of her. She clung on desperately, sobs wracking her entire frame, committing her—_every_ inch of her she could reach—to memory, all over again. Naomi sighed contentedly when she slid her fingers through her blonde curls experimentally, noting with surprise that the length remained the same. She pressed her face against the worn collar of her pea coat, chafing her cheek against the rough fabric. Naomi's arms tightened around her waist, her head tilted infinitesimally, the tip of her nose buried in Emily's hair.

Naomi pulled back to touch their foreheads familiarly. 'Look at you,' she murmured, awed. She nudged her nose playfully against Emily's, 'You're all grown up.' She sounded almost wistful; Emily's eyes flickered open warily. Naomi smiled down at her, albeit a little sadly, and cradled her face in her hands. 'Don't cry, Emsy,' she whispered. 'You'll ruin your make-up.' She wiped the tear-stains away gently, Emily leaning instinctively against her warm palm.

'Naoms?' Jamie's hesitant little voice shattered the spell Emily slipped under, and she flinched away from Naomi's touch like she'd been burned.

'Come, Jamie,' she cleared her throat, wiping her eyes on her coat sleeves hastily. 'We're going.' Naomi's brows creased together, hurt.

'Ems,' she screwed her eyes closed and rubbed her palm briskly against her brow. 'Emsy, please. Don't be like that.' Jamie's gaze flitted rapidly between them, assessing.

'You can see Naoms,' she concluded, thoroughly bemused. 'D'you know her, Naoms?' she asked curiously, peering up at her. Emily's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing at Jamie almost dangerously.

'We're going, Jamie,' she muttered through gritted teeth. 'Don't make me say it again.' Naomi shuffled in place stiffly, her hands buried deep in her pockets, looking pointedly at her.

'It's a bit of a long story, sweetheart,' Naomi relented, glancing down at Jamie. 'And rather complicated, really. I'll tell you some other time.'

'You will _not,' _Emily nearly snarled, reaching forward and pulling Jamie roughly to her side by the wrist. 'How dare you? You have the audacity to slip back into my life, and pretend like nothing, _nothing _happened, when—' she trailed off, glancing away. She threw her head back and bit her lip, willing the tears to slide back into their ducts.

'Don't cry, Emsy,' Jamie said, tugging on her hand comfortingly. 'Don't cry, please.' Emily wiped her eyes quickly and fumbled about in her pockets for her keys.

'Emily,' Naomi started, stepping towards her. 'You know I had to, I never would've if I had a choice—you know that. You _know _that.' She gripped Emily's elbows and pulled her closer, resisting her furious struggling. 'Please, I'm sorry—I'm so sorry.'

'Let _go _of me,' Emily growled, wrenching her arms away from her iron grip. 'Fucking let _go _of me, I said!'

'Look at me,' she pleaded. '_Look _at me.' Emily glared up at her, an arm braced against her chest. 'You were all I thought of, all these years. Not a day went by that I didn't wonder where you were, what you were doing, what you were like, who you were with. I left a part of me with you that day, Emily Fitch. Don't be angry with me, please. Not now, not when I've found it again.'

Tears slipped down Emily's cheeks unabashedly, 'Don't tell me what to do, how to feel—you don't have a fucking right to. You don't know what it was like, to wait and wait and wait, and _realize _you were never—' With great effort, she wrenched her arm away and stumbled back, Jamie clinging onto the hem of her cardigan.

'If you would just let me explain,' Naomi cried, exasperated. 'It wasn't any easier for me, either! Emily, you promised.' Tears pooled in her eyes and she wiped them away resignedly. 'You know I cared, you know I did. I still do. You promised you wouldn't forget. You promised you wouldn't forget that.'

'And you promised you'd stay,' Emily gripped Jamie's hand tighter in hers and shrugged. 'It's a city of sinners, Naoms. And you're no saint.' She swiveled on her heel and tugged Jamie briskly behind her wordlessly. Jamie crawled up the passenger seat and played with her mittens absently as Emily revved out of the parking lot, wiping furiously at red-rimmed eyes. 'I'm not angry with you, Jamie,' Emily said thickly. 'I'm just—_upset. _So very upset.' They drove in silence for all of half an hour before coasting to a stop at the park by Brandon Hill. Emily swiftly unbuckled herself and nodded for Jamie to follow her out. They sat on a faded bench beneath a beech tree and munched quietly on caramel apples Emily had bought from the man beside the gate.

'Does this mean I'm not allowed to see Naomi anymore, Ems?' Jamie mumbled softly. She chewed quietly on a corner of the sweet and glanced up at her aunt. 'Ems?' Emily looked perilously close to tears again, and Jamie reached for her hand. 'I won't, if you say I can't. Don't cry, Emsy. Please.'

'Oh, Jamie,' she sighed, squeezing her hand gently. 'I have no right to interfere. No one does.' Jamie leaned her head against her shoulder, the silence punctuated every now and then by a crisp snap as they bit into their apples.

'Why don't you like her, Emsy?' Jamie inquired, tossing her apple core beneath the bench. 'She's really rather nice, if you give her a chance.' Emily glanced at her, pained. She weighed the apple core in her hand and slid it into the groove between the beech's roots.

'I don't hate her, Jay,' she sighed. 'She is—she can be very lovely. I just—I don't like what she did. It was very, very—' she trailed off, at a loss for words. 'It was a lot like what your grandad did to your mum and uncle James and me, back then.'

'She left you?' Jamie frowned down at her knees in confusion. 'Like grandad left you?' Emily nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 'That wasn't very nice of her then, was it, Ems?'

'No,' Emily laughed thinly. 'No, it wasn't.' Jamie reached into her pocket and pulled out a wind-up top. She scratched it absently on the wooden surface of the bench.

'She hurt your feelings, didn't she, Ems?' Jamie looked up at her. Emily covered her hand with her own and twisted the knob, winding the spring delicately.

'Very much,' she said softly, releasing Jamie's grip and watching it spin and whirl and skitter across the slats away from them in small, circuitous arcs.

'If she tells you she's sorry, will you be friends again?' Jamie asked, watching the top intently. Emily shifted restlessly in her seat and kicked her heels against the dried leaves about them.

'It's not that easy, Jay. An apology doesn't always fix things between friends. Sometimes, it's a lot more complicated than that,' she reached forward and picked up the top.

**xx**

'Circulation's up by thirty percent in the last cycle alone,' Reeve said cheerfully. 'We can publish another magazine by the bi-annual Shareholders' Summit next summer. Mister James Cook has so generously offered us his—'

'Take nothing of James',' Emily said irritably. She sifted through the paperwork he'd filed for her convenience and frowned at the figures. 'Thirty percent? Are you having a fucking laugh? This says fifteen, look,' she stabbed a finger at the offending print and shoved it across the table towards him. '_Look.'_

'An SSI representative stopped by this morning and refuted those figures, I assure you—' Reeve shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and squinted down at the file. The tail-end of the folder clipped his nose abruptly as Emily yanked it away.

'A representative?' she snapped. 'And you choose to tell me this _now_? Why didn't you let me know they'd drop by?' She glared at him angrily, 'Why am I always the last person to know? Who the fuck do you refer all these memos to, then?'

'As of the moment, to Miss Katherine—' he stammered nervously; Emily threw her hands up in the air.

'Oh, of course. Of—fucking—course, silly me. Silly Emily. To my _sister. _To my fucking _sister; _tell me, Reeve, what makes you think my sister knows two craps about running the publishing?'

'I was only following your father's orders,' Reeve defended; Emily narrowed her eyes at him. 'When he called for an emergency Board meeting last Friday, I thought it only safe to assume that you of all people would be informed of—'

'My father?' Emily said quietly. 'My father sanctioned this? He handed over _my _share of the corporate rights to Katie? He declared this public knowledge last Friday?' Reeve loosened his tie about his throat and settled back uncomfortably.

'He made your sister co-operator of the entire system; by all rights and means, she's officially _your _Assistant Editor-in-Chief, effective immediately. She oversaw the SSI delegates' rather impromptu visit this morning, I thought she'd told you.' Emily snorted disbelievingly. She screwed her eyes closed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

'So be it,' she muttered through gritted teeth. 'So fucking _be _it. I'll be in my office, then, if you need me. Though with Katie at the helm, I highly doubt you will.' She pushed her chair back and strode out of the conference room. Several interns averted their eyes as she passed, and she nearly collided with Margaret on the way back to her room.

'Miss Fitch,' Margaret gasped, stepping back nervously. 'I was just looking for you,' Emily raised a brow in acknowledgment, gesturing for her to continue. She cleared her throat awkwardly and shuffled through several Post-its in her stack. 'Miss Fitch and Mister Cook called, at one-thirty-five and two-fifty-two respectively. Both ask that you return their calls immediately, they're both filed 'Urgent' under my heading.' Emily rolled her eyes impatiently and side-stepped her, effectively cutting her off. 'Oh, and Miss Fitch!' she cried after Emily. 'There's a parcel for you; I told them they could wait in your office, in the meanwhile.'

Emily froze and turned back to look at her venomously. 'And what, pray tell, gave you the slightest inclination that arrangement would be perfectly fine?' Margaret opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, a cold sweat breaking across her forehead. 'Next time, you do _not _let anyone into my office without asking my permission beforehand, am I understood?' She nodded furiously, balking under Emily's steely glare. 'Who is it?' she asked, cocking a brow.

'It's a parcel, actually,' Margaret stammered uselessly. 'It's a parcel, and I think you'd much rather—'

Emily swept past her and thrust her office door open without preamble. A man sat leaning against her desk, his coffee-colored skin glinting in the dim light. He glanced up at her and smiled warmly, 'Emily? Emily Fitch?' She cocked a brow challengingly and crossed her arms.

'Yes, can I help you with something?' He sauntered over to her and produced a bouquet of lilies from a box of parcels on the floor. She took it with ill-concealed surprise and examined it curiously. 'Who is it from?'

His eyes twinkled mischievously, 'Sign here, please.' He pushed a clipboard towards her gently, ripping off the receiver's receipt. Emily watched him confusedly as he left and set the lilies down on the desk. _Lilies—_she smiled. Lilies were always synonymous to Cook, who'd taken to buying her one every chance he could afford ever since he found out they were her favorites. She would have to call him later and thank him.

She strode over to her floor-to-ceiling windows and glanced out at the skyline, her face unreadable. It had been three days since the incident at St. Thomas' deserted playground; she had purposely shied away from Jamie since then—she closed her eyes guiltily at the thought. She had considered visiting a psychiatrist herself in the aftermath of that impromptu confrontation: she felt her whole life slipping through her fingers, a decade's worth of effort crumbling before her in a split second. But, there was no doubt about the reality of it all—Jamie was no lunatic; and she remembered every insignificant little detail, down to the last grain. She buried her face in her hands and repressed a sob. Naomi was inevitably going to become a permanent fixture in her life again; the implications of the entire arrangement were far too painful to think of.

Her phone rang, then, and she looked at it irritably. She picked up the receiver a little too forcefully, 'What is it now?' she snapped. She heard Margaret cough on the other end, and a tiny metallic click that indicated she had transferred a call. Static crackled through the line, and she pushed the earpiece closer. 'Hello?'

'Emsy?' Jamie's voice sounded tinny and weak. 'Hi.' Emily sagged against her desk and swiped furiously at her eyes, desperately trying to keep her voice from wavering.

'Hi, Jay,' she murmured softly. 'Hi. Why, sweetie? Is something the matter?' She could hear Jamie shuffling on the other end, and immediately tried to picture her by the coffee table in Katie's living room, holding a phone to her ear.

'Nothing, I just wanted to say I missed you. Why haven't you gone to see me lately?' she chewed her lip carefully, thoughtfully. Emily sighed miserably and fiddled with the extension cord.

'Sorry, Jay. I just had so many things to deal with these past few days. I miss you, too. You know I do. How are you?' it was a bit of a stretch, asking after her state of affairs especially when she knew who'd they'd typically be coupled with.

'Doin' great,' Jamie reassured her. 'Naoms took me to the Boardwalk last night, and we watched all these kites and things. She says she misses you, too.' Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose; Jamie carried on heedlessly, 'She says to tell you she's sorry. Again,' the line went silent for a beat or two, followed by hasty whispers and faint scratching and scrabbling. Jamie relinquished her grip on the speaker, 'She says to ask you if you're still grainy, but not to tell you that she was asking.' There was a yelp and the line went silent again, and Emily fought to keep a smirk off her face at the power struggle ensuing on the other end. 'I meant _angry, _I couldn't read—I couldn't read your handwriting, alright?' Jamie whispered furiously.

'Couldn't read my handwriting, Jay?' Emily asked, casually.

'No,' Jamie groaned. 'I couldn't read Nao—I—You're not supposed to know who's with me,' she said quickly. There was a soft groan on the other end, and Emily allowed herself a tiny smile. 'Emsy,' Jamie carried on seriously. 'Do you work here? Do you work at the building I'm calling, right now? Where mummy visits you, and everything? Does me calling this number mean this is where you work?'

'I suppose so, yes,' Emily smiled. 'I mean, who else did you expect to pick up your call?'

'Yeah,' she could practically hear Jamie frowning in thought on the other end. 'You're right. Okay. I love you, Emsy. I miss you.' She hung up before Emily could return the sentiment. Emily stared at the dead receiver for a minute before hanging it back on the cradle, her heart hammering a thousand beats a minute.

**xx**

Over the course of three weeks, Emily received no less than twelve bouquets of lilies, and five single-sprigs of purple hyacinths. She'd tried to get through to Cook, but was deflected time and again by his overseas-roaming charges. He pulled through efficiently the afternoon she'd gotten the fifth sprig, and she toyed with it affectionately as he picked up.

'Hi, Red,' he said cheerily. 'I've missed you.' Emily smiled, letting his voice wash over her contentedly. She felt her fears and insecurities dissolve almost immediately, and she staved off a sudden wave of loneliness.

'Hi, Cookie,' she whispered back, albeit a little sadly. 'I miss you, too.'

Cook cottoned on quickly enough, 'Alright, Em? You don't sound so good. Something wrong?' She traced a finger across the petals delicately and cradled the receiver tenderly, almost as if it was Cook's warm palm she was leaning into.

'Nothing,' she reassured him. 'I just miss you. Melbourne's had you for a tad too long, I think. You ought to haul that sorry arse back to London. I'm thinking of leaving you.'

'You are, are you?' he chuckled. 'Best book a flight back tonight, then. Hold on a little longer, love,' he said, seriously. 'It'll only take a couple more days, yeah? This is for us, too. I'm doing this for both of us.'

'I know,' she sighed. She lifted the hyacinth to her nose and smiled. 'Thank you, though. These are lovely. They've really made my day.'

'You like them, then?' Cook said eagerly. 'I wasn't sure you would, most people aren't really fond of it. I'm glad you do. Should I send another?'

'I can't understand how most people wouldn't,' she snorted derisively. 'They're lovely, Cookie. They make my day all better, thank you.'

'You're welcome,' Cook laughed. 'They've got brilliant courier service here, then! I sent them over just two days ago, I didn't think it'd get to you so soon.'

'Two days ago?' Emily frowned. 'But, I've been getting them since the eleventh!'

'Hang on, Ems. I think I have to go,' static crackled on Cook's end. 'The program's starting in fifteen, I have to get behind the podium. I'll call you back later tonight, yeah? I love you.'

'Cook? Cook, wait,' she cried, confused. 'I don't—' she hissed in frustration as she heard the tell-tale snap of his phone clasp as he hung up. She frowned down at the hyacinths and got to her feet, wrenching her office door open. She spotted Margaret handing out an armful of parcels to an intern who scampered away hastily upon seeing her advancing.

'Miss Fitch,' she stammered awkwardly. 'These came for you today, I meant to give them to you before your meeting at three.' She handed Emily a packing box gingerly and slipped away surreptitiously in response to Emily's bewildered scrutiny.

Emily tore open the package quickly and brought out two identical jars of Vegemite, a packet of Tim Tams, a tin of Anzac biscuits, and a carton of Golden Circle Sunshine Punch. There was a note folded between the Tim Tams and Anzac, covered with Cook's cropped, untidy scrawl: _Marmite and Vegemite are pretty much the same thing, but this one tastes better with butter, and on toast! Don't eat the Anzac without a tissue, and don't laugh while drinking the punch. I love you. x_

She caught Margaret by the elbow as the other tried—unsuccessfully—to run past her without getting noticed. 'Where do all the flowers come from, then, if not from Cook?' she asked sharply. Margaret blinked, nonplussed.

'I'm not sure, Miss Fitch. I'll have it looked at, immediately. But, you had another delivery just a few minutes ago. I thought you would've intercepted it by now. I had it sent to your room to wait. I asked your permission this morning, I meant to get Mister Cook's parcel in there with it as well.'

'Another one?' Emily asked, confounded. 'Who claimed it, then?' Margaret peered behind her and nodded towards her office.

'I should think Graham, since he's been changing the water for your vases all week, Miss.' Emily brushed past her and strode down the hall purposefully. She caught Graham slipping out of her office and called out to him; he froze, frightened, and turned back slowly to face her.

'What were you doing in my office?' she inquired bluntly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

'I was—I was getting water—For you—For your plant box—And your new—' he fidgeted restlessly with a pen in his front pocket and glanced down at his shoes. 'I'm sorry, Miss Fitch.' He held the door open for her and she pushed past him rather roughly, slamming the door shut behind him with an unnecessarily loud bang.

'You've got a lovely view,' a voice murmured softly behind her. Emily yelped, completely thrown, and upended the wastebasket beside her in her shock. Naomi sat perched on the edge of her desk, peering curiously out her window. 'Oh, sorry,' she blinked. 'Did I startle you?'

'What the fuck?' Emily cried, feeling clumsy and inarticulate all of a sudden. 'Who let—How did you—Who let you in here?' Naomi swung herself 'round to face her, her cheeks flushed with cold.

'Margaret, I think she said she was,' Naomi beamed. 'She's really rather nice. Told me to wait in here. I said I'd much rather wait for you in the lobby, wouldn't want to impose or anything.' Her eyes widened and she began swatting and patting at her clothes haphazardly, like she'd forgotten something in one of the pockets. Her knee brushed against a hat box and she exhaled sharply through her teeth, relieved. 'Oh, thank Christ. This is for you.' She held out the parcel shyly, tentatively. Emily eyed it skeptically, her gaze flickering to meet Naomi's.

'Why—Why the fuck—Why are you here?' Emily said, utterly frustrated at her own incoherence. Her heart hammered dully in her chest, painful and frantic. She was nearly breathless, unable to keep pace with it. Naomi frowned thoughtfully, and lowered her arm marginally.

'I wanted to see you. I had to ask Jamie where you worked, and I had to call about a dozen different firms to find out which building you were at. Turns out there's only one Fitch Group of Companies, this side of London,' she smiled hesitantly. 'I wanted to apologize. To explain. And to try to make it up to you, if you'd let me, in any way I can. Please.' She held out the box again, more insistently this time.

'I thought I'd told you I never wanted to see you again,' Emily hissed. 'What part of that is so bleeding difficult for you to understand?' She lowered the blinds on her glass windows frantically. 'Did anyone see you come in?'

'Does Margaret count?' Naomi asked dubiously. 'She thought I was from UPS or something. I also brought you these,' she reached behind her and lifted a vase for Emily's scrutiny. 'Graham was nice enough to put them in a vase for me, since I thought of leaving them on the table. He didn't see me,' she said hastily, seeing the look on Emily's face. 'He thought they were from someone else.'

'It was you who sent the flowers?' Emily grasped at the only thing she could comprehend. 'You sent all those bouquets? And all those hyacinths?'

'They're still your favorite, aren't they?' Naomi looked worried all of a sudden. 'I wasn't sure, since it's been awhile. But, you were always so partial to lilies. And hyacinths—well, _purple _hyacinths anyway, they mean,' she took a deep, steadying breath and met Emily's gaze steadily. 'They mean, 'I'm sorry, I've been a prick. Please, forgive me.''

'You can't stay here,' Emily managed with difficulty. She screwed her eyes shut, barely believing she was holding this conversation at all. She resisted the urge to pinch herself. 'Get the fuck out of my office, Naomi. _Now.' _

'Not until you hear what I have to say,' Naomi insisted adamantly. She pushed the box towards Emily, 'Please.'

'This isn't up for debate, Campbell,' Emily snarled, pushing it back roughly. 'Leave right fucking _now._' Naomi glanced away helplessly and set the hat box on the far corner of her desk.

'This isn't over, Ems,' she insisted softly. 'Not by a long shot.'

'It was over the moment you left. You may think this is some serendipitous meeting of fate and second chances, but it isn't. Whatever Jamie is to you now is none of my business, clearly. But if you tell her anything, _anything _about us then, I can and I _will _move heaven and earth to end you, Campbell. Don't test me,' Emily gritted her teeth. 'Get. _Out.'_

Naomi got to her feet and made to step towards her, but thought better of it when Emily flinched backward almost spastically. She brushed a hand lightly over the lilies by the cabinet and touched a petal delicately. 'Seventeen,' she said quietly, catching Emily's heated gaze.

Emily's eyes flashed dangerously, 'What are you harping on about—'

'Seventeen,' Naomi explained, patiently. 'Twelve bouquets, five hyacinths—seventeen. One for each year we've been apart. Every year we were apart, on your birthday, I bought you a bouquet of flowers and laid them beneath the tree on Brandon Hill. But, I was never allowed to see you. So, you never saw them. But, I bought one every year anyway. I bought seventeen.' She sighed, deeply, and Emily felt it with every fiber of her being: she sounded exhausted, pained.

'D'you know how happy I was, seeing you again that day?' she looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and smiled sadly. 'I couldn't believe my luck. You were so different, then. Now. So different from the Emily in _my _memories. But, you were still my Emily. And I thought, you know, maybe They felt sorry for me. It would've been enough for me, Emily, seeing you again. That would've been enough. But, then—you remembered. You _remembered _me. You weren't supposed to and—' she swallowed back a sob, and wiped her tears away clumsily with the back of her hand. 'You don't know how happy I was, when you did. Oh, Emily. You don't know how happy you made me,' she touched a corner of the hat box gently, reverently, her gaze soft and tender.

'Seventeen years, Emily Fitch; time has altered much of you, and clearly the way you perceive me,' she gave a watery laugh and drew herself to her full height, brushing the creases from her trousers. 'Luckily, the same can't be said on my end. I may not have kept all my promises, Emily Fitch, but I honored _that. _Every hour, of every day, of every month, of every year—you meant the world to me. You still do.'

An uproar erupted outside, followed by the ringing clash of several filing cabinets falling with an obscenely loud crash to the carpet floor; most likely outrage wrought by the fluctuating stock market figures on Bloomberg. Emily's gaze flickered towards her office door instinctively, Naomi dissolving in her periphery. She glanced back fully and was met with an empty room.

Her heart lay dark and heavy deep in her chest, and she dragged herself towards her desk with seemingly leaden feet. She sat gingerly on the carpet beside her desk and hauled the hat box off it. There were photos—yellowing and faded, tied together lovingly with thin strings of twine, unraveling and frayed at the edges; photos of every birthday they'd spent together, photos of every milestone in her childhood, photos of their last day together in London—the infamous Louis Vuitton handbag winking behind them as mischievously as it did over a decade ago; her chocolate-covered grin devious and elated, the Thames—still as wide and murky and sprawling as it did that fateful day—behind them.

In between two photos, was a pressed sprig of baby's breath that she recognized—with a jolt—from her impromptu 'wedding' bouquet. She rooted around frantically in the box, shaking it in frustration until she heard the dull tinkle of iron and card: there, lying rusted and lonely in the corner, was the construction nut she'd christened the perfect ring, once upon a time.

She clutched the hat box to her chest, and wept.

**xx**

Emily fought to keep her ire and scathe at bay as she listened to Katie deliver the last leg of her plagiarized sales pitch. She stirred her coffee idly as Katie concluded her little speech to thunderous applause from the Board.

'Precisely what I was about to suggest myself, Katherine—splendid!' Donald Hamish beamed, pulling off his pince-nez and wiping them clumsily on his coattails. 'Now, we can effectively conclude now, I suppose, that _Money Management _is not a foreclosing threat to us at this point, then, yes?'

'I don't think they ever will be,' Emily muttered under her breath heatedly. 'I tried to tell you that last week—'

'Yes? Something you wanted to add, Emily?' he turned to her patronizingly; she met his gaze with a cold glare. Katie caught her eye behind him and shook her head infinitesimally, much to her discontent.

'Nothing,' Emily smiled tightly. Her tone dripped with forced sweetness, sickeningly saccharine. 'I just—I wanted to congratulate Katie on such an inspiring and _original _pitch. It opened so many eyes, didn't it, Hamish?'

'Er, yes. I suppose it did, yes,' he said uncomfortably, fiddling with the knot of his tie. 'Glad to see you finally taking an interest in social marketing, Emily. You could take a leaf or two out of Katie's book, I'm sure she'd be more than happy to assist you in your—'

'I'm sorry,' Emily stood up abruptly. 'I ran out of coffee. Let me just grab a refill, gentlemen. We'll resume in thirty.' She swept out of the room, red-faced and fuming. Katie caught her by the wrist as she slipped back into the service room.

'What was _that _ all about?' she asked angrily, glancing around like a caged animal. Her face flushed redder at Emily's arbitrary silence and she snatched the cup away from her in retaliation. 'What're you playing at in there?' Emily cocked a brow in mock-surprise, taking it back from her and lifting the paper cup to her lips to down a cautious mouthful.

'I don't know, Kay,' she shrugged absently. 'You fucking tell me. I'm not sure where to start either: I'm a bit torn between the whole credit thing, coupled with the crippling humiliation at Hamish's expense.'

'Are you still hung up about that?' Katie rolled her eyes dramatically. '_You_ gave _me_ permission to deliver your speech, it's more or less implied that you _do _get credit—'

'Try telling that to Them! To dad!' Emily bit, thrusting an accusatory finger at her. 'Isn't it bad enough that they think I'm the biggest screw-up to grace the halls of their empire since the bloody Tea Party Movement on Fifth Street in two-thousand-and-nine? Now, Hamish thinks I'm Incompetence Personified—what you were, just now, up on that podium? That was bullshit. Pure, utter bullshit.'

'What d'you want me to do?' Katie cried, annoyed. 'Retract my entire pitch? Reintroduce you as the source-liner? The mastermind? The prop-hand behind the entire affair? Jesus, fuck, Em. This isn't a sixth-form stage play; you'll come out all desperate and pathetic. If it bothers you so much, take the next pitch, then! Next month, at the Annex in Manchester.'

'That isn't the point,' Emily ground her teeth together in frustration. 'I can't afford to lose face before the Board anymore, Katie. I need the funding. I need this job. Wasn't it bad enough they reclaimed half of my shares to render you my assistant Editor-in-Chief? All they wanted was to make sure someone kept an eye on me. What does that say about them? What does that say about me?' She slumped down beside the granite counter top, her face pale.

'If it means so much to you, then,' Katie said stiffly, wringing her hands beneath the table. 'I can always arrange a retraction, and a circuit-memo. I can rectify this, if that's what you want.'

'I don't know what I want,' Emily whispered, swilling the coffee around despondently. 'I don't know what to do. Maybe—I'm not cut out for this, Katie. I didn't want this. I didn't want—I didn't want any of this.' She stifled a yawn and closed her eyes briefly, frowning a bit.

'Too late for that now,' Katie said brusquely, pulling Emily's blazer taut and smoothing her thin tie carefully. 'I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go back in there, march up to Hamish, and demand backing. That's the only way he'll respect you. So, pull your fucking shoulders in, keep your head high, and _strut. _You want respect? Try looking like you deserve it for a change, yeah?'

'Right,' Emily mumbled, draining the last few drops of her drink and tugging on her blazer cuffs in a gesture of stiff formality. 'Right, just march up in there—Right.' She felt all the blood rush to her head abruptly, and gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself. She blinked a few times, her vision blurring and unfocused; she resisted the impulse to slide to her knees and press her face against the cold tiling. She suddenly felt light-headed and disoriented, her head clouded with unstructured, aimless thought.

'What—' she slurred, her tongue feeling thick and useless in her mouth. She spoke each word carefully, enunciating the vowels almost exaggeratedly. 'What, exactly, did—Did you put—In that thing? You touched my—Touched my coffee—What did you—It tastes—I feel—I feel a bit—Strange. I feel—Strange.'

'Get your shit together, Em,' Katie said calmly, nudging her forward on weak legs. 'Hold your alcohol, properly. That was a hundred-and-fifty-one proof Everclear, and a couple shots of dad's moonshine. Liquid courage. Buck up.'

'Are you crazy?' Emily drawled, swaying on her feet. 'I feel like I downed twenty shots of tequila—All in one go—I don't feel so good. I can't—I can't go in there, like this.'

'Yes, you can,' Katie snapped. 'You're going in there and telling them what you _demand. _No more nansy pansy-ing around. Be assertive.'

'Assertive,' Emily agreed, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to refocus her surroundings. She felt like she was walking on air, her feet barely touching the floor. 'Right. Assertive. I can be assertive. I can do that.' She stumbled to the glass door and wrenched it open. She strode arrogantly towards Donald Hamish and prodded him roughly in the chest. 'You,' she squinted at him. 'I deserve your _backing. _I deserve support. Haven't I proven myself enough in front of all you? What more could you possibly want?' She glared up at each of the senior Board Members individually. Donald Hamish eyed her with disdain, scrutinizing her wordlessly.

Emily lost her temper, 'Jesus, what?' she cried. 'What's it going to take, then? What'll it take to convince all of you? Any of you?' she glanced around helplessly, tears welling up in her eyes in desperation. She caught Marcus Magnusson's concerned gaze, senior news editor of _Aftonbladet. _They'd only spoken once or twice, on purely platonic grounds at a press conference sponsored by Lundstrom Enterprises and Expressen in Sweden—his homeland. He was at least twelve years older than her, and a single father; she felt cold all of a sudden.

Donald Hamish knit his brows together resolutely. 'Enough, Emily,' he held up a hand. She clammed up, glancing away to keep the tears from falling. 'You're not yourself. That's obvious, I think,' he glanced around at his colleagues condescendingly. Emily felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. 'Collect yourself, sober up. Speak to me before the week ends, convince me. This investment could be put to better use, I think. Help me see otherwise.' He stood up from his swivel chair, his colleagues rising after him. Katie glanced at her and followed them out quietly, speaking in hushed whispers to Hamish who nodded gravely in response to her inquiries.

Emily took a deep steadying breath and followed them out of the conference room, lagging behind a ways until she was directly behind the last straggler of the motley group. She caught Magnusson by the elbow, gently, and tugged him back.

'Miss Emily,' he raised a brow curiously. 'You were lovely today, your presentation was strong.' He spoke in halting, broken English, but she knew he meant well.

She trailed a hand up his arm carefully. 'How'd you know it was mine? The speech Katie delivered, that is?' He shrugged, smiling down at her.

'It had your flair. Miss Katherine is eloquent in her own way, but this,' he gestured freely with the hand that Emily wasn't holding. 'This was more like you. I've heard you speak before. I'm a firm believer in your stands, and I like your confidence. Hamish, he should see this.' Emily smiled at him, her fingers drifting upward, stopping to rest on his chest. His expression turned serious, and he caught her hand, wary all of a sudden.

'I've missed you, truth be told, Marcus,' she said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear coyly. 'I think we should catch up; you should tell me all about Sweden. And your daughters. Are you free for lunch this afternoon?' He glanced around nervously, his throat bobbing once, twice.

'I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, yet. We can catch a late lunch at the Kensington? I know someone there,' he offered. 'We can take my car.'

'I'd like that,' Emily brushed his hand surreptitiously and turned back towards her office. 'Let me just grab my things, we can go in a few.'

**xx**

'Oh, _Christ_,' he groaned, gripping her waist tightly, his face buried against her shoulder. Emily held him inside her, rolling her hips gently. 'Emily,' he said eventually, his voice muffled by her skin. 'Are you alright?'

'More than perfect,' she said breathlessly, mildly pleased that he was even remotely concerned after her welfare. He leaned back against the wall, taking her in his arms. Her dress was hiked up to the waist, her knickers dangling off an ankle. She'd gotten his dress shirt off his shoulders, a sleeve still trailing from an arm, his trousers hanging around his knees.

'I have to go,' he murmured, a little remorsefully. 'I have a meeting with Hamish again in an hour.' Emily smirked, keeping him in place, her hands on his shoulders.

'Will you come see me again any time soon?' she asked sweetly, kissing across his jaw and down his neck. He moaned softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of her breast. 'I'm going to miss you when you leave,' she pouted, threading her fingers through his hair. She pushed against him slowly, coaxing another response out of him.

He stiffened inside her, and she took it as encouragement, rocking against him with renewed vigor. She moaned breathlessly into the air, panting with exertion. It was their fifth liaison that week, Emily having successfully seduced him after that fateful afternoon with the Board. He pulled her closer against him, pushing her back down against the carpet and moving on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed great fistfuls of his hair as he thrust into her.

'Oh, fuck, Jesus—Jesus, yes,' Emily hissed, clenching around him in release. He kissed her, hard and frantic, and came inside her not long after. 'I'm going to miss you,' she repeated weakly, smirking. Marcus chuckled and moved away, doing up the buttons on his morning coat efficiently. 'You can have Hamish over now,' she laughed, leaning up on her elbows. 'We've finally christened your office.' He turned back to look at her and grinned sheepishly, raking a hand through his hair carelessly.

'Will you see yourself out?' he asked, concernedly. He helped her to her feet and smoothed her dress down her thighs tenderly, wiping at her smeared lip gloss with his thumb.

'I'll slip out unseen, no one need see me,' she shrugged playfully. He smiled and kissed the top of her head, pulling back and doing a quick sweep of the room for things he might've forgotten. 'Marcus,' she ventured hesitantly, picking at a loose thread by her wrist. 'You'll speak to Hamish, won't you? Ask him to reconsider my stand? Make him see the benefits of backing me up? You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?'

'Anything for you,' he reassured her, brushing her cheek affectionately with his fingertips. 'Call me if you need anything else,' he winked, slipping out of his office. Emily watched his retreating back and bit her lip when the door clicked shut after him. She paced over to his window and pulled the curtains back, surveying the view of downtown London beneath her with a small smirk.

Men were so easy.

**xx**

'I heard about the deal with Hamish!' Cook crowed excitedly over the phone. 'I'm so proud of you, love. So proud of you. We should celebrate when I get back! I'm so happy for you,' she could almost see his ear-splitting grin, his fond eyes. 'So happy for you. You deserve it—you've done so much for them, it was the least they could give! Oh, Red. How'd you do it? How'd you get that old bastard compliant?'

'I pulled a few strings, waved a magic wand,' she laughed, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. 'You know me. No one can resist the charms and wiles of the Fitches.' Cook bellowed with laughter on the other end, and she allowed herself a smile at his expense. 'I miss you,' she closed her eyes and sighed. 'I miss you, Cookie.'

'Just a bit longer, Em,' he cooed happily. 'We'll see each other soon, alright? I miss you, too. Everyday. How's Jay?' Emily tensed up at the mere mention of her niece, and realized with a jolt that she hadn't seen her in a while.

'I—I haven't gone over to Katie's since last week,' she admitted. 'I'll try to go over tomorrow, just as soon as I finish wrapping up a few things over here. Things have been so—so busy, you know? I barely have time to see her at all. But, I do. I do want to see her,' she said hastily, wondering who she was convincing.

'You should,' he said. 'She must miss you a lot.' He paused, and she let his words sink in. 'I'll call you tonight, alright? I just have to get ready for a client call in ten minutes. My mum just flew in from Prague. She'll be meddling endlessly, someone needs to keep her at bay.'

'You go do that,' she smiled wanly. Cook shuffled about on the other end, soft rustles and crackles of static drifting towards her. 'Keep away from shellfish,' she admonished him gently. 'You forgot your meds back here, I found them in the dressing room cabinet last night.'

'Will do,' he chuckled. 'I love you.' She heard him press a kiss to the receiver and smiled.

'I know,' she hung up and swiveled back in her seat to draft another article for submission to her new managing editor. Margaret poked her head in her room suddenly, sporting a bright grin.

'You might want to pick up line four, miss Fitch,' she said. 'Someone's been trying to reach you all morning. Your schedule was so tight I could only transfer the call this afternoon.' Emily waved her off and picked up the phone, a tad apprehensively.

'Emsy, don't be cross,' Jamie's tiny voice filtered through to her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned back in her seat and ran a finger across the gilt edges of their photo frame together.

'Hi, Jay,' she said. She cottoned onto her opening, her brows creasing together in confusion. 'Why would I be cross? Is something wrong?' her tone rose sharply. 'Did your mum hurt you again?'

'No, no,' Jamie mumbled, sounding almost fearful and ashamed. Emily felt her heart clench, her stomach twisting into tight, leaden knots. 'It's just—I think you might be a bit mad at me, if you find out what I've done. But, I didn't expect—'

'Oh, Jay,' Emily began apprehensively. 'What'd you do?'

'It was me!' Naomi blurted all of a sudden, materializing behind her. Emily whirled around in her seat and screamed in fright, falling over herself and landing with a loud crash to the carpet. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' Naomi apologized profusely, reaching down and grasping her by the collar to haul her to her feet. 'I didn't mean to frighten you! I just, it was all my fault—don't be cross with Jamie for it, please. She tried to tell me it was a bad idea, that you wouldn't want to see me, but I just had to try and see if—'

'Emsy,' Jamie's voice rang through the receiver that Emily still clutched to her ear in shock. 'I'm so sorry, I tried to tell her not to do it, but she wouldn't listen to me. Don't be mad, please.'

'Can I call you back, Jay? This'll just take a moment,' she breathed, hanging the receiver back in its cradle with trembling fingers. Naomi studied her fingers intently, wringing them together in obvious agitation. 'What the fuck is your problem?' Emily said harshly, smoothing down her clothes as neatly as she could manage in her fright. 'How do you even do that?' she demanded. 'Appear out of nowhere and just—is that a habit of yours? Scaring the living crap out of people? Because if it is, Naomi, it is _not _amusing, and frankly, borderline sociopathic.'

'I'm sorry,' Naomi repeated, looking up at her. 'I just—I had to see you.'

'Well, you did,' Emily said wryly. She balled her fists, 'You can go now.' Naomi exhaled through her teeth slowly and shook her head. Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes and deck her, right then and there.

'I'm not going anywhere,' Naomi decided, crossing her arms and hoisting herself up on Emily's desk. 'Why won't you talk to me?'

'I am,' Emily reminded her evenly, eyeing Naomi's knees and wondering at which angle was best to kick at them to send her toppling to the floor in a pained, befuddled heap.

'You know what I mean, Emily,' Naomi insisted. Emily raised a brow at her, her temper in constant danger of flaring short. 'I got you something,' she said, drawing a rather large box seemingly out of thin air.

'I have nothing left to say to you, Naomi,' Emily said, gesturing emphatically to the door. 'Go.'

'Bullshit,' Naomi nearly shouted; Emily flinched a step back at the unexpected outburst. 'If you won't start, then I will. I have so many things I want to say to you, so many things I want you to understand, if you'd just let me, I'd—'

'Spew reassuring, sentimental bollocks in the hopes that it'll be minutely cathartic? Oh, grow the fuck up, _Naoms,_' Emily growled, crossing the few feet between them and jabbing a finger at her chest. 'D'you have any idea what you're trying to _attempt? _You're going to unearth seventeen years of dead weight and throw them at my face with justifications. I don't know about you, but that sounds really pathetic, and frankly unnecessary.'

'Is that a thing of yours these days?' Naomi asked, genuinely concerned. 'Push people away when they try to care about you? Emily, I know I screwed up. I should never have walked away that day, and not a day goes by that I don't live to regret it. You may think it was just another one-off assignment for me, but it meant the _world _to me the minute you walked into my life, Emily Fitch. I cared about you, far more than I've ever learned to care about anything, or anyone, so you have absolutely no right to tell me what I can and can't feel about you right now, because _you _have no idea what _I've _been through in the aftermath of our forced separation! You think I wanted to leave?'

'Shut up, Naomi,' Emily hissed, angry tears stinging the back of her eyes.

'I have,' Naomi cut in sharply, getting to her feet. 'I've done nothing but, all these years. But, not now. Not anymore.'

'What else is there to say?' Emily snarled. 'That you're sorry? That you didn't mean to leave? That this is all a massive misunderstanding? That you want to try and fix things? That this is some sort of a half-baked second-chance from God, Himself? Well, fuck you, Naomi, and up-yours. Fuck you up your sodding arse, eight ways 'til Sunday with a giant, purple, inflatable kiddie pool!'

Naomi blinked dumbly, 'Mm, right. Well. I think,' she clasped her hands together on her lap and glanced down at the carpet. 'I think that would be a bit—painful.'

'Like, fuck it will be!' Emily cried. 'You know what else would be painful? A bloody fucking diamond-studded bike seat, straight up your—'

'Is everything alright in here?' Reeve asked cautiously. He popped his head carefully through the crack in the door and looked at her worriedly. 'I thought I heard raised voices. Are you alright, miss Fitch?'

Emily desperately tried to regulate her breathing, her face flushed an ugly, blotchy red. Naomi smiled timidly at Reeve, almost as if she was apologetic on Emily's behalf. 'I'm fine, Reeve,' Emily breathed shakily.

'Are you sure?' he frowned. 'I thought I heard you in here with someone. You look like you could use a glass of water; I could get you one, and an aspirin—'

'I said I was fine, didn't I?' she roared. Reeve hastily backed out of the room, muttering a long-winded string of apologies as he shut the door. Emily crossed the room in two strides and slid the deadbolt in place.

'Why are you so angry all the time?' Naomi asked gently, her brows furrowed. 'Why are you so cross with me, and with all your employees?' Emily shot her a glare that would've turned lesser men to stone, and running for the hills.

'Alright,' Naomi held her hands up, placating. 'Easier questions, then. One at a time. Why are you so angry with _me? _I thought,' she scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't assume, I know—you have every right to be cross, but, I was just so happy to see you, that I thought—I just thought, you know, maybe you'd be happy to see me, too.'

All the fight seemed to drain out of Emily, her shoulders slumping. She took the box from her resignedly and set it on the low cabinet beneath the glass window, pressing her face against the cool wall. She could feel Naomi's eyes on her back, concerned, and a bit frightened. She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat.

'Help me understand why,' Naomi pleaded. 'Please.' Emily blinked, anxiety constricting her throat and knotting her stomach painfully. 'Emily,' Naomi pressed. 'Say something, please.'

'I don't know,' she admitted softly, after a pregnant pause. She closed her eyes, feeling tears threaten to fall. 'I don't know. Because you left,' she ventured quietly. 'Because you left, when you promised you wouldn't. Because I waited for you like a lunatic for over a decade. Because you were my only birthday and Christmas wish combined, up until I turned seventeen. Because I prayed for you, every single night after dad left mum. Because I needed someone to talk to when Harriet Faulkner spread a rumor during fifth form that I was carrying Danny Guillermo's baby. Because I opened my bedroom window everyday for eight years, hoping you'd climb in when I wasn't looking. Because no one remembered my fifteen birthday, because Katie was in Glasgow with mum and James,' she stifled a sob. 'Because I had no one to run to when Katie got raped by a Rovers cunt on her sixteenth. Because even if she was twenty-one then, I didn't know what to do when she had Jamie with someone she didn't even _know. _Because I never forgot you, and I wanted to. Because it wouldn't stop hurting and I didn't know how to make it go away. Because you had to show up again, just when everything was beginning to make some semblance of sense. Because you're Jamie's, now. Because you haven't aged a day. Because I missed you,' she sobbed into her sleeves helplessly. 'Because I miss you.'

She felt Naomi's arms slide around her waist, and she struggled weakly. 'Please, don't,' she whimpered, squirming away from her touch. 'Don't.' Naomi wrapped her arms around her, and tucked her chin against the crook of Emily's neck, rocking her back and forth, and side to side slowly, comfortingly.

'Oh, Emsy,' she whispered, and Emily realized with a start that she was crying, too. 'Please forgive me. Please, please, _please_ forgive me. Oh, Ems. I didn't know—I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know. Jesus, help me, I didn't know,' she pulled back and buried her face in her hands in anguish. 'I'm so sorry,' she sobbed. 'Fuck, Emily, I'm so sorry. I didn't know.'

Emily felt her heart clench at the sight, and compelled inexorably forward—like a marionette on strings—she cradled Naomi's face in her hands. 'There was no way for you to,' she acquiesced, sighing.

Naomi surged forward and grasped her tightly by the elbows, crashing them tightly together. Emily stumbled on her feet, and pushed Naomi back against the wall accidentally. They slid to the ground in a heap, Naomi nearly inconsolable in her grief while Emily held her tightly, paradoxically, for comfort.

The sky had turned a faded inky purple by the time they spoke again, Naomi's face pressed against the collar of Emily's blazer, Emily tracing a lazy circuit against her shoulder blades, up to the base of her nape and back. 'What was in the box you gave?' Emily inquired softly.

Naomi opened one eye sleepily, 'A cake,' she yawned. 'A cake.' Emily raised a brow and tilted her head down to look at her properly.

'Cake?' she asked, confused. She reached up slowly and felt around the top of the cabinet, before closing in on a corner of the box. She lowered it to her lap, Naomi looking at it almost ashamedly. Emily lifted the lid carefully, and peered in; there was a small iced cake in a clear plastic container. She squinted down at the dedication. 'Thank you for the belated greeting, but really. It wasn't my worst subject, I assure you,' she smirked playfully.

Naomi looked at her perplexedly, 'What d'you mean?' Emily glanced at her, the corner of her lip twitching.

''Congratulations On Passing Physics, You Cunt!'' she read dryly, tilting the box forward. Naomi's mouth fell open in shock, and she took the box, appalled.

'It was supposed to say, 'I'm Sorry, Please Say We Can Start Over?,'' Naomi groaned, thrusting the box back at her. 'I'm sorry, I would've made one myself, but I can't summon _pastries—' _

'A cake's a cake,' Emily shrugged. 'What d'you want, Naomi?' she asked tiredly, after a while. 'Why're you here? What d'you want from me?'

'I want us to give it another shot,' Naomi mumbled. 'It can't be coincidence, us meeting like this again. It never happens, Emily. Never. I think, maybe, it's a second chance. Maybe this was supposed to happen. You and I, we were never supposed to see each other after that, but this,' she squeezed Emily's hand gently in hers. 'This tells me otherwise.' She pulled back and smiled tentatively at Emily, coaxing her to look up at her with a finger beneath her chin. 'Let's be friends again, Ems. I've missed you, so much. Every day. You were all I thought of every day, I swear it. Scout's Honor.' She raised three fingers in mock-salute, Emily breaking into a thin smile beside her.

She let out a heavy sigh. 'Friends,' Emily mused, getting to her feet. 'It'll take awhile.' Naomi hauled herself upright and grinned gratefully.

'I'll wait, for as long as it takes,' she smiled. Emily nodded towards the door dismissively, though without the usual trace of hostility.

'You better go,' she said quietly. 'Thanks for the—well, the cake.' She smirked at the heavy flush that crept up Naomi's neck and face.

'Can I see you again?' Naomi asked shyly. Emily studied her intently, her heart picking up an irregular, frenetic pace at the thought of spending an inordinate amount of time together again after all these years. What if they didn't fit together anymore? What if too much had changed? What if she wasn't the same Naomi after all this time? There was no doubt in her heart that _she _was different—she was clearly a malformed product of circumstance, but that didn't mean—

'I can hear you thinking from here,' Naomi sighed, mock-condescendingly. Emily snorted, brought out of her reverie. 'Just give me one afternoon, Emily. One afternoon to explain everything. To _try. _And if you decide you don't want to see me again after that, then I'll accept it.'

Emily bit her lip, considering the offer. 'Friday, one-thirty. I'll have Meg pencil you in as a potential shareholder, and I can tack it under a client call. Is that good enough?'

Naomi smiled. 'You'd think we were doing business, what with your color-coded schedules and your slipping me in between the gray areas. Are you sure you don't want to examine a resume, miss Fitch?' she teased. 'My credentials are highly impressive. After all, I have you to thank for my double-degrees from Oxford.'

'I'm treating this like a proposal, Campbell,' Emily rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. She purposely ignored the memory that flared up within her at the mere mention of their former interactions, and Naomi's identity at her hands. 'You have one shot to pitch.'

'Best draw up my flowcharts and slide presentations then,' Naomi laughed nervously. She held out her arms, 'I guess—I guess I'll see you then?'

Emily glanced down at her outstretched arms, knowing she expected a half-hearted hug at the very least. She grasped Naomi's right hand instead and shook it briskly. Naomi looked deflated, but shook on it heartily for sport.

'You're all grown up, Ems,' Naomi whispered wistfully, a sad smile playing on her lips. Emily bristled, but tamped down her retort.

'I wish I could say the same,' she said. Naomi squeezed her hand and released her hold, making her way over to the door and pulling it open. 'Naomi,' she called out, Naomi swiveling to face her. 'Don't—Don't let anyone see you, yeah?'

'No one ever does,' Naomi reassured her, stepping out into the corridor and side-stepping a passing intern.

_No one ever does, _Emily thought, glancing back at the tiny cake and it's comical dedication. _What a pitifully lonely life._

* * *

**I'd love to hear what you thought of this one. Don't be shy—let me know you dropped by! Cheers! **


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